Arcane Warrior
by Gothic-Diamond
Summary: A powerful young mage, having not a day before become a fully fledged mage of the circle and aided a friend to avoid a fate worse than death only to betrayed in the end, finds himself conscripted into the legendary Gray Wardens. I just got Inquisition so updates will be slow for the time being.
1. Prologue

**Arcane Warrior**

**Prologue**

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><p>The girl opened her eyes, to see only the barren patch of land on which she stood, for the darkness hid all else save for the sun directly overhead within the all encompassing cloak of night.<p>

'_Where am I?'_ she thought in rising panic, _'what is happening?'_

Her heart began to beat at a rising tempo as the darkness started to encroach upon her, and in her panic, she ran.

As she ran, she began to hear something, at first she couldn't figure out what it was, nor did she care, so intent upon escaping the darkness flowing around her, bringing to the fore of her mind all the nightmares she was so desperately running from.

All at once, the faint noise in the distance exploded into a cacophony of tortured screams. Taken so off her guard as she was, she fell to her knees and clasped her hands to the sides of her head, hoping against hope to drive out the screams, thousands upon thousands of voices clashing against each other like a rock slide.

She started running again, trying desperately to get away from the noise haunting her, but slid to a halt as she arrived at the edge of a cliff, barely illuminated in the dissipating light of the sun, being swallowed up as it was.

Then, she heard a tremendous roar somewhere behind her and then she instinctively leapt foreword trying to get away, her own scream of terror silent in her ears, drowned out by the terrible roaring and the pained screaming of countless lost souls.

She fell for what felt like an eternity, her cheeks wet with tears. The cliff she fell from, the ground below (if there indeed was any), the source of the screaming, the source of the roaring, none of it she could see, as the darkness she so desperately ran from before had now drowned out everything, and was now closing in on her.

'_Is this it?' _she thought, _'after everything that has happened, is this the end?'_ she thought, and then the darkness finally, after what seemed to be a torturously slow pace, caught up with her.

Her tear filled eyes widened to the point that they almost popped out of her skull, as the darkness seemingly swallowed her up. First her feet, legs and hips, then it flowed down toward her hands.

Worse it seemed, was that she could no longer feel the parts of her body that the darkness swallowed, it was if they were no longer there.

She tried to cry out, but even her mouth was already gone. Her head began to disappear, until her eye was all that was left.

And just as it was, when all hope had faded, a light appeared, driving away the darkness and despair from her body and mind. And out of that light, she saw a silhouette coming toward her. Closer and closer it came, and she could distinguish it with more clarity.

The figure was shorter than her by a small amount, and skinnier, but was obviously masculine from the lack of a chest, and had very long hair, flowing behind him so that the exact length was indefinable.

But she could see nothing else, for the figure was wreathed in such intense light that it appeared as pitch black, all but his eyes. They were large and canted, things she associated with elves, but they were aglow with the same light that prevented her from seeing his face.

Awash in the light, she felt a warmth that echoed to her very soul. She felt something then that she had not felt in so very long; love.

She felt loved and protected; as if all the darkness in the world could not harm her. And the man reached out to her, enveloping her in strong arms as if to shield her from the despair of the engulfing dark. She returned the embrace, smiling warmly and crying out of the joy she felt, bathed in this heavenly light.

Her eyes opened, but rather than the barren earth and darkness from before, she saw skin. It was a healthy dark color, much darker than her own alabaster complexion.

Her sapphire eyes widened in realization, as even though the light was no less intense she could now see the man embracing her with such love as to bring her to tears. She raised her eyes, and her field of vision rose from his well defined dark-skinned elven chest to his shoulders and neck and then to his handsome face.

And what a face it was, sharp and angular, with an elegantly sloped nose and high cheekbones and decorated with intricate Dalish markings. His hair, aristocratic looking eyebrows, even his long eyelashes, the color of freshly fallen snow, shining a pristine silver in the intense light.

But his eyes were what enthralled her most of all, deep pools of royal purple gazing at her with such intensity, as if he were gazing into her soul.

She was so enthralled by those eyes, all thoughts were driven from her mind, leaving only him and the heavenly light.

She leaned in, her mind filled with anticipation, and he did the same, and just as their lips were to meet…

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><p>She breathed in with a gasp. Her eyes shot open in a panic, the last thing she knew was that she was about to kiss a beautiful elven man and now…<p>

She sat up, quilt falling about her waist. _'Quilt?'_ She looked down to see her bed, _'so that was… all a dream?'_ she though, feeling relief and disappointment in equal measure.

Sighing, she got up and made her bed. Then, she went to ready herself for the day ahead.

She stretched, her muscles stiff from years of inactivity. She walked through the gardens absently, her mind still on her strange dream. She usually didn't remember her dreams, only having vague recollections of them a few hours after waking.

But this one she could recall to the last detail.

She found it all very strange.

She was brought back to reality abruptly when she almost crashed right into the village Chanter, a kind man by the name of Devons. She quickly swerved, only just avoiding him. Bowing to each other in apology, they continued in their respective paces.

She passed by the dead rose bush and thought _'maybe I should make a post on the chanters board about that.'_

Dismissing the thought with a shake of her head she continued on her walk, but froze up when she realized that something was different, a splash of color where before none existed.

She passed by that particular rosebush every day for the past few years, and it had always been the same; dead and rotted.

She turned toward it, eyes widening in wonder. It was the same as always for the most part, gnarled and twisted, an ugly little thing, but in the middle was a single blue rose. It was a deep, vibrant blue, the same shade as her own eyes.

She was struck silent at the profoundly spiritual image of the blue rose within the dead and twisted thorny vines. Life within death, hope within despair…

Light within darkness.

It was then that she thought her dream might have some meaning beyond that of a simple dream. It was with this in mind that she stood ran toward the Revered Mother's room.

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><p>If one were to travel along the eastern bank of Lake Calenhad, one would inevitably catch sight of the imposing fortress called Kinloch Hold, a relic of the Tevinter Imperium, a once mighty empire brought low by their unlashing of the darkspawn upon the world.<p>

If the traveler were to look more closely, they would notice the remnants of a massive bridge that was never rebuilt, as well as several small docks closely watched by armored figures, the dreaded Templars. Most travelers didn't notice these things however, they turned their heads, pulled their cloaks tighter, and fixed their thoughts on more hospitable places, such as Redcliffe or Highever.

Places not touched by the 'curse' of magic.

Within the tower, quiet usually reigns, disrupted only by the occasional explosion and the soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of the soldiers stationed at regular intervals along the halls. At night, things became even more silent, as the inhabitants settle down to dream.

This is the home of the Circle of Magi of Ferelden. Some call it a haven, some a prison.

It is the only place in the kingdom where mages can legally live and practice magic, under the watchful scrutiny of the Chantry's Templars. It is the duty of these feared religious warriors to watch for and slay apostates, maleficarum and abominations. Apprentices, almost always taken in youth, must learn to control their powers in preparation for the ultimate test.

The Harrowing.

"Wake up Alim."

The boy opened his eyes at the hand shaking his shoulder, he was on the verge of casting an Arcane Shield before his mind caught up with him. The templar standing over him would probably "mistake" the action as hostile and take action, were he any other besides Ser Cullen.

Ser Cullen was one of the few templars with softer opinions toward mages, thought they deserved a softer touch, and so the two of them often spoke to each other with respect. He might even go so far as to call them friends.

He had a great deal more patience toward mages than most templars, even taught him some strength training and sword exercises when he confided in him about his childhood dream of becoming a knight, of earning his way into the king's personal guard and proving to the world that elves were more than just...

Cullen was a full head taller than him and had short blond hair, sparkling green eyes, and a short beard with chiseled features. He wore the standard templar suit of steel armor, paired with an ornate greatsword.

"Rise apprentice, you are to come with me," Cullen said quietly. Alim nodded and slowly got up, noting Cullen's professional tone, and kneeled at the chest at the foot of his bed. He pulled out his apprentice robes, a purple and blue ensemble, and pulling them on as he looked around the barracks that apprentices were stuffed into to see if anyone else was being woken. He was the only one, which could only mean one thing.

'It is time' he thought, sweeping his long silver hair behind his long pointed ears and weaving it into a single Orlesian braid behind his head, leaving it all to fall at hip level. Styling his hair this way was a practice which did not take long, he was well practiced after having preformed this same act every morning for the past decade, but despite not taking long, he doubted that any templar besides Cullen would patiently wait for him to finish. Turning back to the waiting templar, he turned and left the room.

They started making their way up through the tower from the apprentice quarters where apprentice mages like him stayed, the mages quarters where he would stay if he passed the Harrowing, through the libraries that held such vast amounts of knowledge on every subject imaginable (that the templars allowed however), past the laboratories used in the creation of various magical potions.

They moved up into the Templar quarters, which most mages were forbidden from entering, before finally reaching the Harrowing chamber at the very top of the tower.

The room was massive and circular, taking up the entire top floor of the tower. The walls and floor were smooth stone with intricate carvings and runes everywhere, and from his experience with runes and seals he could guess that they were for suppressing magic energy, at the center of the floor was a raised dais with a font on it.

There were three more templars and a mage already waiting in the massive empty room. Though old and wizened-looking, the mage still radiated a sense of power, and with good reason, for he was First Enchanter Irving, widely considered one of the most talented mages Thedas had seen in many years.

Irving was a tall man with a straight back and a kind, grandfatherly bearing. He had long gray hair and an equally long gray beard. His face, showing his age from all the stress lines and dark rings under his slate gray eyes, all from preparing the Harrowing he guessed. His black robes signifying his rank, and when paired with his posture, the look of power and confidence in his eyes and the beautifully crafted dragon-headed staff in his left hand, he cut an intimidating figure indeed.

Alim smiled at him, as Irving had taken him as his personal apprentice when he arrived at the tower fourteen years ago. Even at the tender age of seven, he showed a talent in magic that was nothing if not prodigious, even for an elf (as elven mages were possessed of a greater affinity for magic than most humans), a talent that most of the templars wanted him killed on the spot for, saying that he would be a serious threat should he ever became an abomination.

But Irving was always highly regarded by the templar order for both his legendary self-control and religious fervor. The man had become a grandfather figure to him over the years, nurturing his talents and helping him grow both as a mage and as a man.

A short distance away, flanked by his helmeted underlings, stood Knight-Commander Greagoir, the final authority of the Ferelden Circle.

He was tall, of a height with Irving, with long graying heir, and a short evenly-clipped beard. He had sharp facial features and piercing green eyes with dark circles under them. He cut an impressive figure in his heavy suit of shining silverite armor reserved for Knight-Commanders paired with his enchanted silverite sword and shield.

Though no youngling himself, he still had a severe aura about him and stood ramrod straight. The Templar who had woken Alim led the young elf over to them where Irving set his free hand upon his shoulder.

"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him," Greagoir quoted. "Thus spoke the Prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who had brought the world to the edge of ruin." He began to pace dramatically, Alim's eyes hardened, angered at once again being compared with the Tevinter magisters.

He hated how they always ignored his ancestry, the Tevinter Imperium would always be nothing but enemies to the elves, mage or not, and have always been since time immemorial. But to the templars he was a mage first and an elf second, and therefore no better than a blood mage slaver.

"Your magic is a gift, but it's also a curse, for demons of the dream realm -the Fade- are drawn to you, and seek to use you as a gateway into this world." He stopped and glared at Alim, who nodded to indicate he was listening.

He was exaggerating sure, but not entirely. An undisciplined mage was always easy pray for a demon. And once a mage fell pray to a demon, they must immediately be put down for the good of all. For the only result such a union has ever had, has been death.

"This is why the Harrowing exists." Irving continued, tightening his grip on Alim's shoulder slightly. "The ritual sends you into the Fade, and there you will face a demon, armed with only your will."

His words would have made him nervous, if not for the meditation techniques he had taught him, allowing him to stay calm and collected in almost any situation.

_'Wonderful, sink-or-swim at its finest. Best get this over with quickly,' _Alim nodded, knowing that even if Greagoir had warmed up to him over the years, his proficiency in magic always made him wary. "I am ready." He said confidently.

"Know this, apprentice, should you fail, we Templars will perform our duty. You will die." Greagoir warned, causing Cullen to shift uncomfortably.

Greagoir then stepped to the side and pointed to the glowing font, "This is lyrium, the very essence of magic and your gateway into the fade" he said slowly, Alim found himself unable to look directly at the mercurial liquid for long, and looked away squinting.

Perhaps attempting to draw his attention away from the liquid, knowing all to well the affect it was having on his apprentice, Irving spoke up. "The Harrowing is a secret through necessity, child. Every mage must go through this trial by fire, as we succeeded, so shall you. Keep your wits about you, and remember the Fade is a realm of dreams, the spirits may rule it, but your own will is real." Alim nodded, he had heard all of this many times before but he appreciated this last minute advice.

"The apprentice must go through this test alone, First Enchanter." Greagoir cut in, sounding annoyed.

'_I wonder if something happened.' _Alim thought, knowing that the Knight-Commander and the Fist-Enchanter were close friends. Although their friendhip was somewhat strained by something that happened between the two in their youth, and never recovered.

_'I'll never understand humans.'_

Greagoir turned back to him. Irving shook his head sadly before gesturing Alim forward.

"You are ready." The Knight-Commander said, the highest complement he gave to any mage besides Irving, and despite himself Alim felt honored.

Nodding, he approached the small font at the center of the room.

A soft white-blue glow emanated from the font and he sensed the power radiating from the refined lyrium within.

Though potentially addictive and dangerous if overused, lyrium was the essence of magic, and Alim took a moment to just bask in the flow. Finally, he let his magic flow into his hand and gently dipped it into the lyrium.

The silvery liquid stuck to his skin and started crawling up his arm. He panicked, as lyrium had a tendency to seep into a persons skin and poison them, so he sent out a pulse of magic to send the liquid back into the font.

The liquid flew off of his arm and back into the bowl as intended, but when the magic energy met the lyrium it set off a reaction that engulfed him in a flash of light.

The last he saw was Irving catching him before he could crack his head against the floor.

The templars surrounded Alim's sleeping body and waited.

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><p>AN: This story is based on my own actions playing through DAO, and my favorite origin story. Over the course of this story, you will recognize the references I'm making. I take inspiration from many sources, including other fanfics, so if I reference someone else's story and don't acknowledge it, please don't take offense, I will try to make acknowledgements where I can, but most of the time I do it unconsciously.<p>

I know the rose Leliana finds isn't stated to be blue, but this actually happened to me. I once found a beautiful blue rose in a dead and gnarled rosebush. It was an intensely spiritual experience that changed my life, it made me aspire to be a source of light and hope in the darkness and despair that is the world we live in, and I found Leliana's experience to be similar, so I put it in here.

I will try to keep this story as close to canon as possible, while adding my own changes here and there.


	2. Spirit Walker

**Arcane Warrior**

**Chapter 1 Dream walker**

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><p>Once his awareness came to him again, he opened his eyes to see he was atop a nebulous plateau-like area (but the landscape here was too chaotic and ever-shifting to accurately be called such), surrounded by nonsensical architecture and landscapes.<p>

The very air here was distorted, filled with energy and warping his view of everything.

Several massive grotesque statues dotted the area and the ground flowed randomly with grass, dirt, and stone. Glancing into the distance, Alim saw a series of floating islands in a reddish-brown sky, as well as the only constant sight in the Fade: the Black City, once home to the Maker, and now a grim reminder of humanity's pride.

Alim snorted in derision. Whenever a mage visited the fade, whether or not they actually were human, the templars always told them in no uncertain terms about how it was their brethren who was responsible for having corrupted the Golden City and cursed Thedas with the blight.

Alim shook his head and dragged himself back to his current situation. He had a demon to find if he wanted to avoid being yet another unmarked grave at the shores of Lake Calenhad. He walked over to the edge of the plateau and glanced down. He saw a ball of light flitting around near the end of a small path leading up to his position.

_'A wisp' _he thought. These collections of magic were the last remnants of a deceased spirit; they were pure reflections of the defining emotion of the spirit they were in life. A "good" wisp, based on a benevolent spirit, would often try to guide or protect dreamers, while one that came from a demon would generally attack on sight, unable to discern friend from foe.

Alim prepared a spell as he approached the twitching being, since it was almost impossible to tell what type a wisp was from a distance.

A wordless screech of rage echoed through the area as the wisp noticed Alim. Without hesitation, he launched his blade-shaped blast of energy before countering the wisp's lightning ball with a shield. Lacking any thoughts of self-preservation, the rage wisp died as Alim's spell tore through it.

Pushing on, Alim passed through an out-of-place canyon, noting with some amusement the upside-down trees and odd broken marble pillars, which brought to mind what he read about the environment here only being a poor imitation of the physical world.

A few more rage wisps fell without resistance before Alim found something interesting. A mouse… or what seemed like a mouse. He reminded himself that nothing in this place was as it seemed.

"Someone else thrown to the wolves, as fresh and unprepared as ever." Alim glanced down, idly wondering how such a human sounding voice came out of that off-shaped mouth. "It isn't right that they do this, the Templers. Not to you, me, anyone."

"No, it isn't right at all. But I will succeed, right or not." Alim stated with confidence, crouching down to get a better look, discreetly preparing an Arcane Shield should the thing prove hostile. The mouse pulled himself out of his hole and said with a scoff. "You say that now. So have many others before you. Look at me, look at what can happen." Alim narrowed his eyes at the pathetic creatures futile attempts to break his spirit.

The mouse sighed, "it's always the same. But it's not your fault, you're in the same boat that I was, aren't you?" the mouse asked rhetorically as it started to glow; it's form flowing upwards. Alim cast the Arcane Shield immediately, but the mouse (now a human) ignored the magic wall between them and continued sardonically "allow me to welcome you to the Fade. You can call me, well, Mouse."

"You were an apprentice then?" Alim asked causing Mouse to nod solemnly.

He kept up the shield separating them, wary of the so-called apprentice who happened to be wearing the robes of a senior enchanter, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. One could change his appearance on a whim here, it was entirely possible that he changed his robes to make himself seem more intimidating.

"It's fuzzy, that time before. They wake you up in the middle of the night and drag you to the Harrowing chamber, and then..." Mouse paused, making Alim suspicious, "the templars kill you if you take too long, you see" he hissed with renewed rage. "They figure you failed, and don't want something getting out." He started pacing. The creatures voice dropped to a frustrated mutter, "that's what they did to me, I think. I have no body to reclaim.

"And you don't have much time before you end up the same." He finished, and Alim arched an eyebrow. He seemed to be in a hurry, but there was no concept of time here, it was truly impossible to tell how long it had been since he arrived here.

Alim shrugged. "I already knew they were out to get us, so I'm not surprised. Sorry about what happened to you, for what it's worth... Mouse." Mouse sighed again.

"Don't waste time with that talk, you don't want to end up like-" he gestured to himself, "-this. There's a creature here, contained, just for an apprentice like you. You have to face the creature, a demon, and resist it, if you can.

"That's your way out. Or your opponent's, if the templars wouldn't kill you. A test for you, a tease for the creatures of the fade." Mouse once again finished his long winded speech with a long drawl, drawing out his last word.

Alim crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow "anything can die. I doubt it's as simple as that." He said confidently, having engaged many of his instructors and fellow apprentices in magic duels, and even the few templars willing to engage a mage in melee combat, he was fairly sure about his chances here where willpower mattered more than strength, and therefore a mage like him had every advantage.

With First Enchanter Irving having brought him up to be a Knight Enchanter like himself, all the more so.

"You would be a fool to just attack everything you see," Mouse boomed disdainfully, "what you face is powerful. Cunning." Alim sighed, he didn't expect this test to be easy, but...

Alim moved around Mouse and continued down the path, hearing the former apprentice transform behind him. A few seconds later, Alim realized that there was a patter of feet behind him. Turning, he saw that Mouse was following him.

Alim kept the shield separating them active but invisible. He was not willing to trust anything here, even after a few 'well meaning' words of advise, especially so, as demons would try to manipulate him and get on his good side. The hesitation brought about by a sudden betrayal by one you thought a friend was just enough time a demon, if sufficiently cunning, needed to get what it wanted.

Answering the question that Alim was about to ask, Mouse said "I think I'll follow you for a while. My time was long ago, but you might have a chance. I would like to help in any way I can, such as telling you a spirit is currently residing on a hill just beyond this canyon." Alim thanked Mouse again, and the two moved on, Alim destroying another wisp without much effort.

Proceeding cautiously, Mouse was as much help as he thought he would be when he encountered several minor, hostile spirits. His whiskers stood on end and he was gone in a flash into the nearest hole, shadow, or any other cover he could find. It was no more than he expected, and he found himself missing Jowan. He was always nearby when he needed him, and he wouldn't have run off like a coward when the glowing balls of light attacked.

The small victories over the wisps gave him an uneasy sense of self-confidence. Although painful experience had taught him that a little confidence was a gift, and too much a curse, it carried him through several more encounters of the same type.

He wound his way through the blurred, ever shifting landscape, not bothering to look for Mouse any time one of the wisps appeared. To be fair, it was Alim's test, not Mouse's, but if he was always so worthless in a fight it was hardly a wonder he was stuck here without a body to return to.

But perhaps that was not fair of him. Alim had always had a disdain for weaklings and cowards. As a child he had dreamed of being a knight, having grown up on his grandfathers stories of his time in service under Loghain in the war with Orlais, and being under strict physical training under his harsh taskmaster of an aunt. Under the two of them he gained a sort of knightly bearing, his every action one of chivalry.

Even after he was carted off to the tower, the honor and valor his family had taught him had not gone away.

The one thing Mouse seemed to be good at was fits of warning squeaks. In spite of his urgent warnings about taking too long and the templar's lurking with a sword ready to fall, severing his spine, he didn't rush.

The probability of getting killed here was simply to high to allow himself to get careless and rush through this. If he didn't manage to keep his skin whole in the dream world, it wasn't going to matter what the templars did. Although he didn't know for certain, he assumed if that should he die in the dream realm, he body would waste away to death at the top of the tower.

"Another spirit this way. It never seemed equal to its name to me," Mouse's mutterings behind him went ignored.

The pair left the canyon and made their way up the hill, Mouse falling behind as Alim beheld the new spirit. It was armored from head to toe and carried a longsword and shield on its back, and surrounded by piles and racks of every weapon imaginable, and a double helix bade of swords extending straight upwards the sky hovered in midair, as there was no concept of gravity here.

"Another mortal thrown into the flames and left to burn, I see" the spirit announced in a booming voice, turning to look at him. "Your mages have devised a cowardly test. Better you should be pitted against each other to prove your mettle, than to be sent unarmed against a demon."

"I agree with you spirit, but I didn't have much choice in the matter you see." Alim said, ignoring the fact that it was the Templers, whom the spirit dressed like, whom had probably come up with the Harrowing.

"Indeed, the choice, and the fault, lies with the mages who sent you here." Valor said, and Alim had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Spirits were very touchy, and took offense easily.

"What kind of spirit are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I am Valor, a warrior spirit." Valor responded with a touch of pride. "My purpose is to seek perfection, creating the ultimate weapon for the pursuit of valor."

"Well, since you have so many weapons, do you think that I could borrow a staff to fight the demon with?" Alim asked. Valor folded his arms thoughtfully.

"I will give you one… if you agree to duel me. Valor will test your mettle as it should be tested."

"Very well Valor, I agree to your challenge." Alim agreed, ignoring Mouse's warning that he didn't have much time, not trusting the opinions of such a coward. For whatever reason Mouse seemed to believe that it was only the templars watching him, and not the First Enchanter who's words held much wait among the knights of the Chantry.

"We shall continue until I am satisfied. If you are unable to meet my standards, I shall slay you. Is this acceptable?"

"Yes" Alim said concisely, preparing his magic. Valor drew his sword with a flourish, looking impressed that Alim had agreed so quickly.

"Very well! Fight with Valor!" He yelled, crouching into a stance, readying himself to fight.

Alim immediately conjured a curved longsword made entirely of spirit energy in his left hand, a Knight Enchanter's go-to offensive spell. He could see the approval and excitement in Valor's eyes. Alim rushed forward, swing his sword in swift swings he had all but perfected in his duels against Cullen.

With his sword in his left hand, and right hand (which would normally be wielding a staff) free to throw magic spells, Knight Enchanters like himself were a force to be reckoned with, something that became evident in his dual with the spirit of Valor. He parried the spirit's sword and blew the shield away with an Arcane Bolt and struck Valor's breastplate with his palm, following up the seemingly useless martial arts attack with a wave of lightning that sent Valor back a few feet with a yell.

"Ah yes! I have faced your kind before, magic knight. They have always proved themselves worthy and formidable adversaries, and you do not disappoint, though you still have a way to go yet." Valor said, complimenting his abilities but noting the areas he had to improve in with constructive criticism.

"I thank you Valor, I shall act on your advice an endeavor to be greater in the future." Alim answered, his tone even and confidant. "You are a most worthy adversary yourself, may we meet again in the future."

"A fine attitude to have, warrior." Valor stated as he rushed forward again. Alim answered his thrust with a parry, and as the sword came in again from his right he conjured an Arcane Shield and struck with his own spirit sword, but Valor blocked it with his shield, only for the spirit energy to lose it's blade form and become a blast that exploded out at the spirit warrior.

Taken by surprise at the sudden turn, he could do nothing but be repulsed and knocked into the air, regaining his bearings he gracefully flipped in midair and landed near one of the weapon racks.

"Enough, I am satisfied." Valor said, sheathing his weapons and reaching into the nearest pile to grab a beautiful staff, which he tossed to Alim, who leaned slightly on it, winded from the battle. "May you find success in all your accomplishments, Mortal." The spirit gave a salute to Alim before turning away.

"Thank you Valor." Alim said.

"That was incredible Alim!" Mouse cried as they met at the bottom of the hill. "You're the first apprentice I've seen who was able to hit Valor hard enough to impress him, and I've never seen anything like that energy blade before!"

"I thought you didn't remember anything from before." Alim said as he idly destroyed a spirit wolf that was rushing towards him.

"I… don't." Mouse said slowly "But I'm sure that I would recall something as incredible as that. Apprentices usually don't have that kind of control."

"I've always had a close affinity with blades and the more combat oriented spells." Alim said, and then changed the subject. "So, Mouse, why did you take the form you did?"

"Well, after the Templers killed me, I was left all alone in the Fade." Mouse said bitterly. "I was scared, and so I hid from everything. Eventually, I took the form of a mouse, so that I could hide more effectively. Finally, the mouse in me swamped the human, and I became Mouse. That's the way that the Fade works."

"Interesting." Alim said thoughtfully. The two continued on in silence for a while, passing through a strange and undulating forest as Alim burned, cut apart, electrocuted or froze any hostile beings that approached.

He had to keep his spells versatile, and never use the same spell twice. Lest his enemies find a pattern in his fighting style and use it to their advantage.

Suddenly, Mouse stopped short.

"There is a demon nearby. Not the one hunting you, but still… we should be careful." Alim nodded, and slowly moved around a completely arbitrary cliff face into a small clearing. At first, nothing stuck out, but then the companions realized that the odd pile of thorns off to one side was breathing.

It looked like a bear, if one accepted that bears had rotting reddish skin with the odd patch of fur here and there with spikes sticking out. The creature was also massive, easily taller at it's shoulders than Alim himself. Its steady breathing indicated that it was asleep.

"It's a Sloth demon. Let us sneak by quietly," Mouse whispered, and he agreed, Sloth was relatively high on the hierarchy, the two slowly started to pass the demon.

**"So, you are the mortal being hunted?"** a slovenly voice rumbled through the clearing as two small, bloodshot eyes opened. Alim halted immediately as Mouse scampered behind him. "I might have been inclined to devour you myself, but that would take… too much effort."

"Wonderful, he isn't interested in us. Let's get moving before he changes his mind" Mouse hissed, but Alim was struck with a crazy idea.

"Actually, I wouldn't mind speaking with you for a moment."

**"Hmm. I don't particularly want to talk, but stopping you would require even more effort."** Sloth murmured, his eyes switching from Mouse to Alim. **"Speak, then. I may answer."**

"Do you know why I'm here?" Alim asked, and the demon slowly nodded. "If you could offer any help, I would be very grateful."

**"You have a very nice staff, mortal. What could you possible need from me?"** the demon yawned, his eyes drooping. **"If that is all, go on and fight your demon. Be… valorous."**

"He looks powerful." Mouse said quietly, transforming back to his human form. "It's possible that he could teach you to… be like him."

**"Him? No."** Sloth rumbled, sounding mildly amused. **"Mortals are far to attached to their forms to learn to change."** His eyes switched to Mouse **"You, on the other hand, have already abandoned your mortal body years ago. I could teach you."**

"I wouldn't make a very good bear. How would I hide?"

"Hiding doesn't solve anything, Mouse" Alim said. "We have to face the world if we are to change it."

"Who said I wanted to change the world?" Mouse hissed furiously. "I have seen more in this Maker-forsaken place than you could possibly imagine!" He took a deep breath, then slowly continued "but, through all that, I haven't done anything. I have existed, but not lived. I guess your right, actually. Perhaps it is time to change. I'll try to be a bear." Mouse moved forward to stand beside Alim.

**"That's nice"** the demon huffed. **"But I never said that I would actually do anything."**

"Wha… I knew he wouldn't help us," Mouse groaned in frustration.

"You can't suggest something and then decide that you won't do it!" Alim snarled.

**"I can't?"** Sloth asked in amusement. **"You have so much to learn about the Fade, little mortal."**

"Mouse is willing to learn. Teach him."

**"Hmm, it seems I have become mildly interested in this whole affair. Let us make a deal, little mortal. If you can answer my three riddles, I will teach your friend. If you cannot, I will devour you both. What say you?"**

"Very well, Sloth. I am rather fond of riddle games." The demon slowly rose to his feet, his eyes fixed avidly on Alim.

**"My first riddle, is this: I have seas with no water, coasts with without sand. Towns with no people, mountains without land. What am I?"** Alim stared at Sloth for a few moments, and Mouse started backing up very slowly. Grabbing his companion's arm, Alim answered: "You are a map."

**"Hmm, correct. Let's move on. My second riddle is this: I am seldom touched, but often held. If you have wit, you'll use me well. What am I?"**

Alim's thoughts drifted back to a distant memory, and he answered with a sad smile, "tongue."

**"Yes, your witty tongue."** Sloth grumbled. **"One more try: Often will I spin the tale, never will I charge a fee. I'll amuse you an entire eve. But alas, you won't remember me. What am I?"**

"A dream." Alim answered promptly. "Very clever, I could think of three answers to that one. But with that specific wording, only one was the case" the Sloth demon preened under the praise, then sighed.

**"You are correct. Rather apropos here in the Fade, no? But you've won my challenge and proven yourself an amusing distraction. Now, I shall teach your friend. To begin, you must…"**

* * *

><p>"Like this? Am I a bear? It feels, heavy" Mouse wondered aloud as he shuffled around in his new body. Black furred, about two thirds of Alim's height, it had taken a mere fifteen minutes for him to grasp. Fifteen minutes that had felt like an eternity to Alim, who remembered Mouse's dire warnings. How long did he have until Greagoir lost patience and decided to have him killed? Would Irving try to intervene, or just stand aside, reasoning that he had other apprentices to throw into the flames?<p>

He could only hope that his grandfather figure would give him as long as necessary. That and silently reinforce the shield surrounding him in a full circle now.

**"Hmm, close enough."** Sloth said, laying down and turning back to Alim. **"Go then and defeat your demon. It's that way"** gesturing one of the paths out of the clearing **"Now, leave me be. I grow weary of your prattling."**

"Thank you, Ser Sloth." Alim said, walking off, followed by the now-large Mouse. The two walked in silence, easily defeating a group of spirit wolves.

"Should I start calling you Bear now?" Alim jested.

"Your never going to let that go, are you?" Mouse grumbled, his voice slightly deeper through the bear form. "Are you sure you want to face the demon now? I could point you to another spirit…"

"No, I'm pretty sure I can do this." Alim said. "A few quick questions, though. What is the demon like?"

"It's a rage demon, lowest on the hierarchy but still powerful." Mouse said, his bear-face scrunched up. "It manifests in an "arena" just over that way, and has a fiery form. It also generally has a few wisps in attendance. Did I mention that it was strong?" He said, his voice wavering a bit on the last part

"Yes, Mouse, but so are we." Alim patted his 'friend' reassuringly. He figured that Mouse or Bear might be some demon in disguise, trying to get on his good side. He figured that the best thing to do here was to do the same himself, hopefully his own betrayal against it if he was indeed a demon should make it hesitate long enough for him to kill it.

"But..." He started, but Alim cut him off with a look, "I have a plan" Alim whispered as the two entered the arena.

In the middle, cracks appeared in the ground, fire emanating from them. Then, a hand made of lava rose up, grabbing the ground. Another joined it, which then pulled the full body of the demon out of the ground. About Alim's height, it was indeed made entirely of flame and lava, and had no facial structure except for two hate-filled eyes.

**"And so it comes to me at last"** Rage's voice echoed. **"Soon I shall see the land of the living with your eyes, creature. You will be mine, body and soul."** It said with a sweeping hand gesture.

"Why don't you come over here and prove that, demon!" Alim hissed, his magic flaring up at his command. The demon emanated an aura condescending superiority, his own energies becoming noticeably more potent, challenging the vile aura of the demon.

**"Oh, I shall."** Then, surprisingly, he turned to Mouse, who had transformed and moved to stand beside Alim. **"So, this creature is your offering, Mouse, as per our arrangement."** Alim turned in surprise towards his companion, who was covering his face._ 'So my suspicions were true, at least partially.'_ If the bear turned on him, there was no way that he could defeat the traitor as well as the demon and wisps that were now moving to surround him.

Well, he could, but it would no doubt be much more difficult a task.

"We don't have an arrangement! Not anymore!" Mouse cried, his eyes blazing as he raised his head. While the demons face could not show any emotion, his next words made up for it.

**"So, after all the wonderful meals we shared,"** he said in a voice that didn't even try to hide his simmering fury, **"now suddenly the mouse is changing the rules."**

_'Shared...' _"I'm not a mouse anymore." Mouse said proudly. "And soon I won't have to hide. I don't need to bargain with you."

**"We shall see"** the demon hissed, and then everything started happening at once.

"Distract it!" Alim cried, immediately blasting one wisp before turning to engage the ones behind him. Mouse complied, shifting into his bear form and charging Rage, who responded by engulfing him with a jet of fire.

The five wisps Alim faced might have been a threat, but made the mistake of clumping a little to closely. One virulent walking bomb spell eliminated the three instantly, and then Alim conjured a whip of arcane energy to take down another, and he then split the whip into two to strike down the remaining two. He then turned to help Mouse, who simply could not get close enough to Rage to attack.

"Pull back, Mouse, you've done your bit." Alim shouted, and the bear gratefully complied, rolling to put out some of his flaming fur. The demon turned to face Alim instead.

**"Foolish creature, I am a Demon of Wrath. Those pests were just a distraction, surrender and I will make your death quick and painful."** It said malevolently.

Alim scoffed, then summoned a sword of ice magic and coated his staff in the same.

Saying nothing in response to the demon's taunts, Alim raised his staff and cast an ice spell, a bluish mist formed around the demon, and he roared in pain as ice gripped him. The demon's molten skin melted some of the ice and it charged Alim, unable to use its powers through the haze of pain and ice. Alim gripped his staff and slammed it into the ground, causing the demon to thrash as blades of ice rose from the ground, impaling him. Simultaneously, all the heat was sucked from the area, freezing the demon in place.

Alim calmly approached, placing his blade's tip between the demon's dimming eyes. "Goodbye, Rage. You were an utterly uninteresting foe." Alim taunted as he stabbed it forward and destabilized the ice making up the outer coating of the blade, releasing the energy within into the fiery body. The demon exploded into death.

"You did it!" Mouse cheered, as he transformed back to human form. "I was worried there, but I should have known an apprentice of your potential would have a surprise up their sleeve!"

"I noticed that the demon mentioned other "meals" before. Who were those unfortunate apprentices you deemed unworthy to live... Mouse?" Alim asked quietly, glaring at the cowardly creature with eyes that simmered with suspicion and hate. He had not put away his staff or dispelled the barrier, only strengthened it further.

"What? They were not as promising as you. They wouldn't have survived anyways. I… don't even remember their names. I don't even remember my own name. It's the Fade, and the Templars killing me, like they were going to with you." Mouse said hurriedly, backing up a little.

_'Like an animal'_ Alim thought in disgust, _'or worse'_ but let it go. "So what is it that you want from me then turncoat?"

"You've completed your test. Someday, you will be a master enchanter without equal. And there is hope in that for someone as small and… forgotten as me."

_There is no thing as a master enchanter.'_ Alim thought to himself, as the hierarchy only consisted of six tiers, those tiers being apprentice, mage, enchanter, junior enchanter, senior enchanter, first enchanter and grand enchanter.

"…What are you getting at?" Alim asked slowly. Mouse's face had adopted a calculating look.

"There may be a way for me to get a foothold outside. You just have to want to… let me in." Mouse said hopefully, but there was something… else.

Alim's blood chilled, _'so it was exactly as I thought'_. "The other demon wasn't my real test, was it?" he asked quietly, suddenly figuring out why Mouse was not wearing apprentice robes, but Senior Enchanter garments. He did not change his appearance to make himself seem more intimidating, undoubtedly the denizens of the fade would not be able to distinguish the differences between robes, he wore the wrong robes simply because he did not know any better.

"What? What else here could harm an apprentice of your potential?" Mouse asked, trying to sound offended. Alim simply glared at him, bringing his staff up again. Finally, Mouse smirked. "You're a smart one, aren't you?" His expression then changed to an ugly leer.

"Smart enough to see through you, demon" Alim said, backing away and summoning another spirit sword.

**"Simple killing is a warrior job."** Mouse said, his voice deepening threateningly. **"The real dangers of the Fade are preconceptions, careless trust... Pride."** His body glowed again, and then rose upwards. Alim then understood. Mouse was a Pride Demon, the most dangerous creatures in the Fade. With a flash, the powerful monster vanished **"Keep your wits about you, mage,"** its voice lingered as the world went white.

**"True tests, never end."**

Then Alim knew no more.


	3. Bound in Blood and Magic Pt 1: Love

**Arcane Warrior**

**Chapter 2: Bound in Blood and Magic Part 1: Love**

* * *

><p>Jowan moaned as he dragged himself back into the waking world. It took him a moment to realize what had woke him; the sound of armor clinking and quiet murmurs from his templar guards.<p>

Pretending to be asleep, he did his best to listen in as they spoke quietly among themselves. The guards weren't exactly kind to their mage prisoners, some of them taking a liking to waking them from sleep just to annoy them, knowing they could do nothing in return. If they did, they were usually labeled abomination.

"One of the best Harrowings I've ever seen, saw through that last trap almost instantly." Jowan almost jerked up at those words.

Harrowing!

Someone had gone through their Harrowing! "Maybe the Knight Commander has been wrong about this one, he doesn't really seem all that unstable to me."

"Yeah, and that display of swordsmanship in there. I could get in some good practice, you think?" the templar carrying the mage by his shoulders said.

_'Swordsmanship? He did it!'_ Jowan thought fiercely, immensely proud of his friend. He was the only one they could be referring to after all, Alim was the only apprentice in this generation with the power and control required to be a Knight Enchanter, and therefor have any want or need to display swordsmanship.

He wouldn't have to say goodbye to another friend, not this time. He smiled at the thought, Alim was a brother to him after all.

The templars lay Alim down on his bed, then left as quietly as their armor would allow. Jowan opened his eyes fully, trying to get a better look at Alim. He didn't look that bad, and the Templar said that he had done well. So the harrowing wan't any kind of physical test or battle, he guessed judging from Alim's unmarred visage, pristine robes and immaculate braid.

Glancing up at the light beginning to stream through the window adjacent to his bunk, Jowan started to get ready for the day; it would not be long before the wake up horn would go off. If Alim was like the previous survivors, he wouldn't be awake for a few hours yet.

* * *

><p><em>'True tests, never end'<em>

Alim jerked up, panting, the final warning of the pride demon echoing tauntingly in his mind. He looked around, expecting the demon to be coming for him. But, no, he was back in the apprentice barracks. He closed his eyes and lay back, groaning.

_'I don't get it,' _Alim thought_. 'I was just asleep, so why do I feel so tired. What that demon said, I get the feeling that I'll be meeting him again.' _His eyes narrowed _'I don't look forward to it. Pride demons are both cunning and powerful.'_

"Are you all right? Say something, please…" He heard Jowan say, knocking him out of his inner monologue.

Alim opened his eyes to see that Jowan's face was right in front of his own as he sat up in his bunk. "Jowan?" Alim asks (despite knowing exactly who it was) more because speaking out loud felt like it would ground him in reality than any confusion he might have had.

"I'm glad you're all right. The templars carried you in this morning. I didn't even realize you'd been gone all night. I've heard about apprentices who never come back from Harrowings. Is it really that dangerous? What was it like?" Jowan asked almost too quickly for him to catch considering he was still slightly disoriented.

"It was... harrowing" he smirked slightly when Jowan rolled his eyes in irritation. "Is that why they don't tell us what it's about?" he asked eagerly, "I know I'm not supposed to ask, but just a little hint, then I'll stop asking, I promise." His voice had taken on that disarming pleading tone which he only used when he was truly desperate, taking Alim off his guard.

_'Why is Jowan pushing the issue so desperately?' _he wondered, Jowan was a talented mage (in his own right), he was nowhere near as talented as Alim, but then again, few others were. This was not arrogance speaking, it was cold hard fact. Knight Enchanters were expected to be extremely talented in all four schools of magic as well as templar talents in order to gain the control necessary to even begin to learn to be one.

Jowan was by no means the most talented mage in Thedas, or even the most powerful, but he was by no means weak. He had above average talent in Entropy magic, and smaller amounts of talent in Spirit and Creation.

"We're friends Jowan, brothers even. But lease don't ask me this, you know I can't tell you." He said to his friend guiltily, as much as it pained him to keep secrets from his friend, he was a loyal mage of the Circle, and giving away knowledge that was forbidden to apprentices wasn't something he was going to do.

"Huh, so much for friendship, I'll leave you alone then." Jowan says in response, obviously trying to guilt him into losing his composure and spilling the secret. Alim said nothing as he slid out of his bed and went through his morning stretches. "And now you get to move to the nice mages quarters upstairs. I'm stuck here and I don't know when they'll call me for my Harrowing." Jowan whined, moving out of Alim's way. "Don't worry so much about it, I'm sure they'll call you for yours soon enough." Alim finished his stretches and shook out, feeling nice and limber.

"Easy for you to say. I've been here longer than you have… sometimes I think they just don't want to test me." Jowan pouted at Alim who looked up at him, eyebrow quirked. "What are you talking about Jowan? Why wouldn't you be tested?" "The Tranquil never go through a Harrowing. You do the Harrowing, the Rite of Tranquility… or you die. That's what happens." Jowan explained as though Alim didn't already know this, but what bothered him was the look in his eyes, it was almost as if he didn't see the Harrowing as an option.

"What does this have to do with you?" Alim asked warily, standing in the doorway of the apprentice barracks. "If… if they don't call apprentices to the Harrowing, it probably means… tranquility. You've seen Tranquil around the tower. Like Owain, who runs the stockroom? He's so cold. No, not even cold. There's just… nothing in him. It's like he's dead, but still walking. His voice, his eyes are lifeless…" Jowan shivered, the Tranquil unnerved everyone at times. "Owain volunteered though, you know that. He felt he was too weak for the Harrowing and... there was nothing anyone could have done."

"Yes I know but... I don't know how they do it exactly, but you're cut off from the Fade. It takes away your magic abilities, along with your dreams," Jowan hesitated as he reached the worst part, "and emotions." Alim rolled his eyes at Jowan's textbook definition of the tranquil, those were Senior Enchanter Ivan's exact words from their first class with him.

"You speak as though I don't already know all of this, Jowan." Alim frowned, he didn't like to think about the Tranquil, mostly because he may not let it show but they did actually unnerve him at times. "Apprentices can ask to be made tranquil if they fear the Harrowing. But the Circle also forces Tranquility on those they feel are weak. And sometimes they force it on Apprentices they think might be too… dangerous as mages." Alim raised his eyebrow at his friend at all these obvious statements that even the slowest mage would know, it was almost as if...

"I shouldn't waste your time with this. I was supposed to tell you to see Irving as soon as you woke up." Jowan swiftly changed the conversation as he remembered his orders from earlier (and the fact that he noticed Alim's suspicious look didn't have anything to do with it at all), and Alim relented, preferring not to think further along his previous train of thought.

"Master Irving? What for?" Alim asks, it wasn't often that Irving would ask to see him outside of a prearranged time, normally though Alim just showed up. "He didn't tell me. About the Harrowing, I'd guess, but you never know with Irving. You'd better not keep him waiting. We can speak later." Jowan walked away in a hurry, and again Alim had to bury his suspicions.

Once again, Alim wandered his way up through the tower. Somehow, even though he had walked these halls for years, it seemed different now that he was a full-fledged mage rather than an apprentice. The halls seemed... he didn't quite know how to describe the feeling, but it felt like an old friend he'd be leaving behind... but not quite to that extent as he knew he'd still be coming down here often enough as a teacher.

He entered the spacious library, listening with amusement to William trying and failing to control a magical fire. The younger mage was not bad at magic, just lacking in self-confidence. His nervousness allowing for his spells to escape his control and get the better of him. It was amusing to watch his telekinesis training backfire on him and... at least until he'd have to get him down from the chandeliers and explain to the templars why they shouldn't kill him.

For most mages one of the four schools of magic came relatively easily to them, while the others were a constant struggle. Alim himself was exceptionally proficient in all four schools, as was necessary to learn his battle oriented spells.

Primal was the magic of the elements. Energy was bent into fire, wind, water (or ice, since it was solid and therefor easier to control), stone and lightning. The best known school; it was considered the easiest. While it was true that almost any mage could do it, there were not many who could use it with finesse and skill since it was the hardest to control.

Creation on the other hand, had more peaceful applications and required an extremely high level of control. Abilities like healing stemmed from this school, as well as defensive glyphs and strengthening and energizing auras. Masters of Creation were also the most likely to be allowed outside the tower to be used by cities and armies.

Spirit; the magic pulled directly from the Fade was the least common branch, and thus was sometimes mistaken as being forbidden by the ignorant. It was the most subtle of the schools, it didn't require that the energy be transformed into an element or augment the body, rather it taught the user to affect the world with the energy itself, such as using telekinesis to lift objects as directed by the mind.

Entropy was the nastiest legal branch of magic, designed for the sole purpose of debilitation. It could cause bouts of terrible fear to take hold of the mind, put targets to sleep, or a combination of the two previous spells to cause the target to suffer terrible nightmares, it could create auras to absorb the life-force or mana from the air around them or any living being who gets caught up in the aura.

A little further into the library, some of the youngest apprentices (ten and below) were getting a lecture from one of the Chantry Sisters about the Templar's favorite mantra.

'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.'

This passage of the Chant of Light was the whole reason for the existence of the various Circles in Thedas. It was what gave the Chantry the right to run the lives of mages all over the world. Alim found it incredibly ironic that the Chantry's own document was what they saw as making them legal overlords, rather like the way that the laws made solely by the human nobility were used to oppress the elves. He sometimes wondered if the Chantry ever stopped to consider the irony that in an effort to escape slavery under the magisters of Tevinter, they in turn enslaved the mages of all of Thedas.

_'Probably, it's their whole bloody plan, right?'_ he thought grimly.

Alim knew why the laws had come to pass, of coarse.

In ancient times, the Tevinter Imperium had ruled almost all of Thedas. It had been run, in turn, by the Magisters, powerful blood mages who's cruelty had caused a great deal of suffering. That much was known fact, but the Chantry accused them of much more. It claimed that the Magister's arrogance was so great, that they had forced their way physically into the Fade, and sought to take the throne of the Maker.

They were rebuffed, "twisted and cursed by their own corruption" and had become the monstrous darkspawn. To further damn their memories, the Magisters assault on the Golden City is said to have caused the Maker to turn his back on the world, leading to the current sorry state of affairs.

Once, a few weeks after Alim had first arrived at the Tower, he had asked why the current generation of mages were still being punished for the crimes committed by those who had died long ago. The answer the class had been given was, of coarse, that their being taken from their families and exiled to the Tower was not actually a punishment, but a way to defend them from those out in the world who feared their power.

He had gone on to ask why the apostates, those that did manage to live outside of the Circle were hunted. If they were capable of making it in the outside world without hurting anyone, then why should they be bothered? The Sister who had been giving the lecture had answered by talking about maleficarum, and how they were a threat to everything, and cursed by the Maker. In so doing, she had conveniently ignored the bit about how the apostates were not hurting anyone.

But this realization only actually came to him in hindsight, that sister's words had him entirely convinced, at the time, that apostates and maleficarum were one and the same.

Alim, wrapped up in these thoughts, only realized that he was nearing Irving's office when he heard the First Enchanter and Knight Commander arguing about something through the open door. Glancing in, he saw them, as well as a man he didn't know.

About fifty years old, give or take, the newcomer had dark salt and pepper hair slicked back into short tail and a wild looking but neatly trimmed beard. He had dark skin, only a shade darker than Alim's own, obviously speaking of a Rivaini descent. His armor, unlike Greagoir's almost ceremonial suit, looked like it had seen a great deal of action, but wasn't of any uniform he recognized. It strongly resembled the Rivaini knight armor he had seen in a history book, with some personal accents thrown in. He wore a unique longsword known as Edge of Song and Glory, an heirloom of sorts, passed down the line of Ferelden Gray Warden Commanders since the second blight, strapped diagonally across his back, and a shortsword built to mach the longsword in design was to his back, forming an x with the longsword, and last was a matching dagger strapped to the sash on his waist.

But the thing that caught Alim's attention the most, as cliche as it was, were his eyes. They were a bright amber, but somehow seemed darker, strained. As though they had seen even more of the world than his age would indicate. Despite this, however, they seemed calm, at peace. The man glanced up from the argument and noticed Alim, but did not immediately comment.

"Many have already gone to Ostagar, Wynne, Uldred, and most of the senior mages. We've committed enough of our own to this war effort " Greagoir was saying furiously. _'War? Who are we at war against that would require so many mages to be let out of the tower?'_ Alim puzzled to himself, as even one senior enchanter was worth almost a dozen regular foot soldiers. The circumstances here must be dire indeed, and considering that a Gray Warden Commander of all things came personally, there was only one logical assumption.

_'I desperately hope I'm wrong about this'_ he thought to himself as a shiver ran down his spine.

"Your own?" Irving retaliated in wry amusement as he crossed his arms "since when have you felt such kinship with the mages, Greagoir? I think it good that we are occasionally actually allowed to use our Maker given powers."

"How dare you suggest-" Greagoir started dangerously, before being interrupted by the unknown man, who had perhaps sensed that the argument was about to dissolve into an actual fight.

Needless to say, a fight between the two strongest individuals in the tower was not the most welcome of developments.

"Gentlemen, please." He had a rich voice, with an accent that was hard to place. Surprisingly, he was actually able to get the quarrelers' attention, something that caused Alim's opinion of him to go up a few notches. "Irving, someone is here to see you," he continued. Irving turned to Alim, having just realized he was there.

Irving chuckled softly, honestly surprised that he was still able to get so caught up within his disagreements with Graegoir that he could lose focus of all else.

"You sent for me, First Enchanter?" Alim asked, stepping farther into the room.

"Ah, if it isn't our newest brother in the Circle. Come in, young Alim," Irving said warmly, all traces of his argument with Greagoir fading from his face at the sight of his apprentice. The Warden Commander stepped forward to stand beside Irving, still studying Alim intensely.

"This is?" he asked, "yes, this is he" Irving confirmed. Alim wondered what Irving had told this man about him. Nothing bad, hopefully. Greagoir's eyes narrowed, despite having proved his worth he was still distrustful of the young elf.

"Well, Irving, you're obviously busy. We will continue this discussion later." Greagoir said, striding past them toward the door. Alim stepped out of the way, meeting the Knight Commander's eyes for a moment. Greagoir gave him a look, warning him to tread lightly, before continuing on his way.

"Of course." Irving answered, either not noticing the byplay or, more likely, dismissing it as irrelevant. "Well, where was I? Oh, yes. This is Duncan, leader of the Grey Wardens."

"A Grey Warden, here?" Alim said, his eyebrows shooting up. The Grey Wardens were a widely respected group of warriors, who's duty was to fight the darkspawn. Little was known about them other than this, but they were almost universally trusted even in Ferelden, where until twenty-some years ago, they had been exiled.

"Grey Wardens go wherever duty sends them." Duncan said seriously.

"You've heard about the darkspawn threat rising in the south, haven't you?" Irving asked. Alim nodded, having heard some rumors about a large incursion in the Korcari Wilds, which was the southernmost reach of Ferelden, just north of the uncharted lands, rumored to be home to hedge witches. "Duncan here has come to recruit mages for the Kings army at Ostagar."

He straitened his back at that, he would gladly go to war if he was summoned. He was a patriot after all, and the aequitarian beliefs were deeply ingrained in him after so long as Master Irving's apprentice.

"It is essential that we drive the hoard back in the south." Duncan said. "If we can not, then Ferelden may face another Blight." His purple eyes widened slightly at that and he instantly went silent, he was genuinely beginning to hate being right all the time.

Each of the past Blights had lasted decades, the exception being the first which had lasted almost two centuries. Each time it happened, tens to hundreds of thousands of people were killed.

Men, women, children... humans, elves, dwarves, or qunari, the darkspawn did not discriminate, they hated all of them equally.

"Duncan" Irving chided gently "Your worrying the poor boy with all this talk of darkspawn and Blights. He just passed his greatest challenge, today is a happy day for him." Alim wasn't comforted by Irving's words, but he appreciated the intent.

"These are troubled times, my friend." Duncan said quietly.

"We should seize moments of levity, especially in troubled times." Irving responded equally softly, before turning back to Alim. "The Harrowing is behind you. Your phylactery was sent to Denerim. You are now officially a mage within the Circle of Magi."

"Thank you, First Enchanter." Alim said, bowing.

"I'm sorry," Duncan interjected, "but what is this phylactery?"

"Blood is taken from all apprentices when they first come to the tower, and is preserved in special vials." Irving started, trying to shut Alim out of the conversation, but the younger simply wasn't content with just sitting on the sidelines during such an important and grim topic.

"Should a mage ever leave the tower" Alim continued, "the templars are able to use the blood to find them." It sounded awfully like blood magic to him, but with all the other borderline hypocritical things the templars did, what was one more to add to the list?

"We have few choices" Irving said warning him to be quiet, and Alim took the hint and kept quiet. "The gift of magic is looked upon with suspicion and fear. We must prove that we are strong enough to handle our powers responsibly." He turned back to Alim, smiling. "You have done this. I present you with your robes, your staff, and a ring identifying you as a full member of the Circle," he said, handing the aforementioned items to Alim. "Wear them proudly, for you have earned them."

"Thank you, First Enchanter" he said with a smile filled with pride. Pride that he had to thereafter push down into the recesses of his mind. He was still far too shaken up by the Pride Demon's last message to him to allow himself to be overcome by any emotion, let alone pride.

He took his new acquisitions from Irving's outstretched hands. The exquisite folded blue and gold robes with many pockets hidden in their folds for potion bottles and other items he draped over his left arm to change into later, the gleaming lyrium-infused silver ring with the beautifully engraved dragon on the face he slipped onto the middle finger of his left hand, and the steel acolyte's staff.

"Please, take the time to rest, or study, whatever you wish to do. The day is yours." Alim nodded, bowed slightly to Duncan, and turned towards the door. He would probably start by gathering his few belongings from his chest in the apprentice barracks and bringing them up to his new room in the the mages quarters.

"If our business is concluded, I would like to return to my quarters for the moment" Duncan said behind him.

"Oh, and Alim," Irving called, and Alim turned back around. "Would you be kind enough to escort Duncan back to his quarters? I'm certain he will appreciate a little company."

"Of course, First Enchanter," Alim answered. It would be nice to talk to someone from outside the tower for a while. "And where are you staying, Ser Duncan?"

"On the other side of the tower on this floor," Duncan said as he fell into step beside Alim. "And you may simply address me as Duncan, I am no knight."

"On the contrary ser, you were able to prevent the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander's argument from becoming an actual fight, as well as stop the argument itself. I honestly never thought I'd see the day where anyone besides Senior Enchanter Whynne could boast that particular accomplishment" Alim said with a chuckle, but only partially joking.

Duncan nodded, smiling slightly. He had dealt with those two often enough in the past to know that there was a great deal of tension in their dealings, despite there being mutual respect underneath. He had met Whynne as well, and knew firsthand that despite her mild mannered and wise exterior, she was very stern and... frightening.

"What's happening outside the tower, if you don't mind me asking?" he asked, as curious about the outside world as would be expected of a newly harrowed mage, if not more so.

"Ah… I don't imagine you leave very often, do you?" There was no pity for him in his voice, which he'd already guessed would only vex him.

"We are permitted to walk the grounds," he muttered, blowing a sigh through his lips as his eyes misted over, wistful over imaginary landscapes and great cities and forests and grasslands which he'd only been allowed to read about.

"And thus a good view of the other side of the lake?" Duncan did not mock him, but his matter of fact question baited his attention sharply back. There were those, like Alistair, who anyone could read by spending a few minutes with them. Daveth's easy, broad sense of mischief but ultimate loyalty to whoever earned it and Ser Jory's pensive obligation to duty but his naive arrogance from always getting whatever he wanted handed to him were unfurled scrolls. The mage in front of him seemed to be lacking in self confidence, but kept his cards closer to his chest.

He might not see it in himself, but if he was put into the group of recruits he'd just mentally named, he had a notion he'd be the one to lead them; mage or no, elf or no.

These were things Duncan did not mention, however. He'd not yet obtained the permission he'd come to the Circle to get. "It must feel rather isolated, all the way out here, with a lake in between you and the rest of the world" he continued conversationally. "I, however, am not a good source of news I fear. I am preoccupied with the darkspawn incursion." As he'd thought it might, that tantalized the lad with more questions.

Information about his Order and mysterious enemies of legend were more interesting than the tower, and seemed more pressing at the same time. Irving had wrangled the conversation out of their hands earlier, insisting it be turned to more upbeat things. Pleasant or not, Alim wondered who had a better clutch on reality, his mentor, or the stranger?

In one hand, he knew Irving to be a gentle, kind, balanced man who did his best through passive stubbornness to help his charges. On the other, he didn't know Duncan, but in knowing the ways of the First Enchanter, he might not be as canny to dangers in the outside world as maybe he should. "Can you tell me more about the Grey Wardens and the darkspawn?" He wanted to make the decision of danger for himself, if he could, and that meant asking.

"Certainly." Irving was correct about the young man it seemed, and he'd already planted a seed in him which he was sure would grow. "I am intimately familiar with these subjects after all."

Drumming his fingers absently against the staff in his right hand, he tried to piece together what little he could remember of the past Blights. Considering the last one happened some four centuries or more ago, there wasn't much coming to his mental call. "About that horde in the Korcari Wilds," he recalled the name. "Have there been many darkspawn attacks?"

His tone had become deadly serious as he watched him begin give up wistful dreams for real threats. "If they are not stopped, they will strike north into the valley. We Grey Wardens believe there is an archdemon leading the horde."

The new term Duncan introduced didn't slip by and Alim pounced on it, hungry for more. "Archdemon?" He'd never heard of such a creature in all his studies and contact with the Fade.

"Darkspawn do attack the surface in ragtag bands, but archdemons are capable of rallying the darkspawn, turning them into an unstoppable force. A horde of darkspawn … a veritable army. It is dire news indeed. I fear this is what we will have to face." Diuncan said, making Alim shiver.

"Is it really a demon?" He'd read many different bestiaries and dossiers of the creatures of Thedas and the spirits of the fade, and considering his recent Harrowing, he was that much more curious. "Or some sort of of powerful Abomination? Or is that just what people call it?" The term 'demon' literally meant a denizen of the Fade, but as Sloth had recently reminded, it was only a word. When people didn't understand something, it could become a convenient tag used to identify some other strange creature.

He decided to explain his question further when he saw Duncan quirk his eyebrow. "You said it has the power to pull the darkspawn together in a horde, but if it's a Fade creature, how does it have so much effect in the material world? Did it possess something?"

"I do not know the answers to all of those questions," Duncan told her evenly, almost beginning to lose patience with him... almost.

"We believe the archdemon is one of the old gods of Tevinter, which the darkspawn continually tunnel beneath ground to find." It was a process he'd personally witnessed while even younger than this young elf, when he was almost newly made a Warden at 17. The Architect hadn't been heard of since, but Maric had not been lead false. A Blight was coming, and if the Architect had vanished or not, it had to be stopped. "But whether it is simply a dragon which a powerful demon has possessed and corrupted or something else, we do not know."

That statement in itself raised a whole line of questions in his mind, but seeing as they were nearing Duncan's sleeping quarters, he relented and asked the next question in mind "are the Grey Wardens a whole army?"

"We are too few," he said gravely, almost as if he thought it both a good and bad thing that more people were not Gray Wardens. "That is why we Grey Wardens require assistance from the king's armies and other sources."

Alim bit his lower lip pensively, but he believed him. Something about Duncan made him impossible to refute. Although he reminded him of an ice block floating in water where all you saw was the tip, he liked him. "That makes sense. So the king is mustering an army to beat back this threat?"

"Yes." His thirst for knowledge was almost palpable, and Duncan found that very interesting. "Perhaps it will be enough… if we play our cards right."

"I've heard of darkspawn sightings," he insisted tentatively, for that information was second hand and read about in books, "but an entire horde?" The very word 'horde' conjured up some very disturbing pictures in the back of his mind, each of them grimmer than the last. "There's really that many for the archdemon to call?"

"They usually move around in small groups," he agreed without affront, "but there are always more of them, lurking underground, biding their time."

Scrubbing his nose with his index finger, he turned his focus on his boots for a moment, his thoughts going rapidly one over the other before he met Duncan's eyes again. "I thought the darkspawn were destroyed in the last Blight?"

_'If only that were so'_, he thought almost wearily. "We can't seem to eradicate them completely." More was the pity, but there was so little known about their enemy. What had survived about their origins had been registered into Chantry lore, and how much truth was in it, he did not know. "Somehow, they always come back."

The certainly didn't sound pleasant, he mused silently, but his mind had already clicked over to something else. "Why were Irving and Greagoir arguing about the war?"

For the first time, he did not immediately answer him, wanting to test him, instead. "It is not my place to comment."

Because his tone was polite, if firm, he decided to meet it with equal civility to see if he'd reconsider. "Please? I'd like to know."

Alim didn't give up easily, and he had finesse. The Grey Wardens were renowned for anything from one time heroes astride soaring white griffons to an Order which was a thin facade maintained to protect the worst of criminals. Desperate need bred requirements for many different skills, and although the griffons were extinct, he could certainly find use for a mage with a silver tongue. He gave him what he asked. "Greagoir serves the Chantry, and the relationship between the Chantry and mages has always been strained." A dire understatement, they both knew. "You've realized by now the Chantry merely tolerates magic? They watch only because they feel they must."

"Yes, I know," he agreed glumly. "I'm sure the Chantry would probably put us out like a snuffed candle if they could," he grumbled indignantly, "but they were arguing about the war?"

_'Focused and a little stubborn. Good.'_ "Any mages who join the king's army can unleash their full power on the darkspawn. In fact, I'm counting on it. Greagoir may be afraid of what will happen. What if the mages decide they no longer want to be governed by the Chantry?" He waited to see what he would make of that, and his reply did not overly surprise him.

"What are your opinions on the matter?" he wanted to know instead of giving his own.

"I believe we must defeat the darkspawn one way or the other. My opinions end there." He closed the topic with a certain finality, having other ideas than drawing him into a debate about magic and the Chantry. Alim's reactions were more important to him than those concerns, all of which were trivial to him against the darkspawn incursions.

Recognizing he'd get nothing more out of the conversation along that path, he followed the meandering half-thought which had been percolating in the far most corners of his thoughts since he'd first seen him. "How many mages have joined the king's army?"

"When the king sent out the call, the Circle of Ferelden sent only _seven_ mages to Ostagar. I asked king Cailan's permission to come and seek a greater commitment from the Circle."

Although he knew the Tower was not exactly Denerim as far as population went, that seemed like very few people compared to an entire army. Mages were powerful, of course (as powerful as he was, that was only because of his melee strength and skill, his knowledge and willpower, and vast variety of spells, power-wise he was actually not very far above others in his age group), but putting only that handful into hundreds of soldiers seemed about as foolish as trying to fill a bucket with an eye dropper. The Circle wouldn't see it that way however, and he knew it from how Greagoir had been carrying on. "Seven is quite a few."

_'Now who is trying to learn about who?'_ Duncan thought with an inner chuckle. "I hope to place a mage or two in every contingent. I can not do with just seven. Mages will make all the difference in this battle." He hadn't any idea exactly how prophetic those words would come to be, although for different reasons than he thought. "The darkspawn have their own magic, and our resources must exceed theirs."

He paused, his mind floating over imagined terrors of bloodshed, battle, and worse – darkspawn who could wield magic as he could. Could he be brave enough? Would he make a difference if he was? A critical part of him had already made up its mind. "Do you think I could join the army?"

"I don't know," he countered pleasantly, "do you?"

There was another long, soul searching pause, because truly he did not know if he would ever have the courage. Fleeing, screaming like a coward off the battlefield would not just be undignified, it would also be treasonous. It could get him killed. No more Alim Surana, last of the Surana and Trialmont lines.

He'd have to find out first hand if one's soul really went through the Fade to the Maker once they died or not. It wasn't a particularly pleasant thought, but at the same time… What if that death happened because he was helping protect Ferelden and by extension all of Thedas? Wouldn't that be worth it? What if he had the pluck to actually stand his ground and do something good with his life and magic? Be the proof Thedas needed that mages could be forces of good in the world, not just forces of chaos to be feared. He could show the world that elves were a people to be respected, not just slaves or servants as they were.

Maybe he could even be a spear head in giving the elves a new homeland, a new Arlathan, as it were.

"Yes," he told him finally. "I think I could help."

"Then perhaps I shall speak to Irving about this later." Their conversation had convinced him he'd found who he'd come seeking. Many of the communities put on great tournaments to show the mettle of the finest of warriors, but he preferred to find his recruits in other places. The task was difficult enough as it was, but those like Daveth, Alistair, and now this young man were what he needed for the Grey Wardens beyond just skill with weapon and shield.

"Darkspawn are a greater threat than blood mages or even abominations. It takes decades for the world to recover from a Blight. I wish the Chantry could see that. We must stop at nothing to defeat the darkspawn – Ah listen to me," he interrupted himself, his features relaxing. "An old man's rantings can't be very interesting."

Alim had a very different thought about that, and was honest when he hastily told him. "I do not mind, I learned much from what you said." It was not mere politeness which made him say it, and Duncan didn't seem that old to him anyway.

Duncan chuckled softly. "You are too kind."

He was afraid, however, that he'd wear out his welcome and his tolerance.

He had promised to speak to the First Enchanter, so perhaps he would. He hoped so, although another small part of him insisted that if he didn't, at least he'd remain safe in the familiar environment, rather than risking life and limb on a far off battlefield. Then it would be out of his hands, wouldn't it? After all, he had tried. "I should take my leave now."

"Do not let me keep you," he told him affably, and watched him depart.

Duncan had given him so much to think about that his mind felt like a jar of bees bouncing off the inside of his skull.

Everything in his life since he was seven had been ordered and safe, even if it was dull and occasionally irritating. What if the darkspawn were truly the threat that Duncan had implied? Nowhere would be safe. Darkspawn descended upon a land like locusts and plague together, slaughtering, burning, and would not be satisfied until everything was exterminated. There was no mercy, surrender, or living under another empire until a rebellion could carry the oppressed back to freedom.

Losing against a Blight meant the end of elves, qunari, dwarves, and mankind as entire races. Nowhere would be sacred, not even the stone walls of the Tower. The thought made a chill sweat bead along the base of his neck and dampen his robes, in spite of the cool air circulating inside the edifice he called home.

Perhaps his subconscious was at the helm because he hadn't noticed where his feet had taken him until he realized he was standing in the doorway of his new quarters. Even though his belongings had not been brought up yet, he decided to change into his new robes.

Leaning his staff against the wall, he began stripping out of his robes. Not a difficult process, as it only consisted of three garments. A full length vestment that clung tightly to the torso and arms, but loosened at the waist to fall loosely around his ankles, a shawl that was fastened in the front, and belt/long skirt-like garment that wrapped around the back of his waist and buckled in the front, leaving the long skirt open in the front.

He changed into his new robes with as much ease, as they were different only in design and embroidery. Enchantments too, but they weren't things that one would physically notice.

They were predominantly blue, and had a gold diamond-like pattern along the torso, and intricate gold patterns along the blue skirt, shawl, and blue designs along the hemlines of the gold vestment. Mages robes were different between elves and humans. Human robes were thicker and heavier, and a bit plain as it was more difficult to imbue such intricate embroidery in the thicker material. But the material of the elven robes were thinner and lighter, and the senior enchanters such as Whynne took every opportunity to imbue as much finery as they could in their guided cage.

Even the illusion of freedom was better than nothing at all.

Finished with his task, he set off downstairs to apprentice barracks. He made his way down the stairs to the first floor and into his previous rooms, and proceeded to collect his trunk, as all of his things were in there. He chuckled as he heard some of the apprentices, mostly females and some males, comment on how handsome and distinguished he looked with his new robes and staff.

As a fellow apprentice he was always too short (he was the only male elf in his age group), looked like an old man with his hair, or a foreigner with his skin. But as a fully-fledged mage he was all the rage, it seemed, and all his previously unappealing traits were now sought after ones.

He did not mind the negative attention from before, and paid no attention to the new positive attention. He did blush though when he heard a comment on how his silver hair, dark skin, royal purple eyes, lavish robes and silver staff made him look like a fairy tail prince.

Alim suddenly felt the urge to bolt out of there, but kept to a walking pace, as running away blushing like a little boy would have been undignified.

When he made it back to his room, he set down his trunk and lied down on his bed, suddenly exhausted. He rested a hand on his forehead and chuckled at how quickly things changed.

_'Fairy tail prince, huh?' _He sat up in a meditation pose and fought down his blush, regained control of his emotions, and calmed his racing heart. Despite himself, being called a prince was greatly appealing to him. He even gave into his vanity and walked away in a dignified manner instead of making a fool of himself.

Once he was calm he stood up and decided to visit his favorite newly-appointed senior enchanter. He exited his room and made his way to the mage laboratory as he had heard that she was put in charge of the tower catacombs.

As he entered, he was warned by a nervous looking mage that Senior Enchanter Leorah was apparently in a bad mood. Leorah was an elven mage just a few years shy of two decades his elder who was only recently promoted to senior enchanter. Undeterred, Alim went over to greet her.

He smiled at her nervous fidgeting form, facing away from him and toward the doors to the catacombs. Even just shy of forty years, she was still very beautiful. Her fully gray hair was pulled into a tight bun with her bangs hanging down and framing her face, her vibrant stormy gray eyes being lined with light tear troughs, and her long ears that would twitch or redden adorably when she was embarrassed.

Her lithe body was covered by her newly made formfitting pink senior enchanter robes, proudly showing off her curvy, but willowy elven body.

He had to shake his head to get rid of his more amorous thoughts as his eyes couldn't help but drift to her shapely rear. Leorah was the Circle Tower's foremost authority on elvish culture and language, and was his instructor in such. He absorbed her teachings like a sponge, the two becoming fast friends over the years.

They even began to have 'secret meetings' around his fifteenth birthday. It wasn't easy, however, to keep their meetings secret as the years rolled on, the templars were easy enough to mislead with excuses of elven meditation techniques, but the other mages were much more difficult, as they partook in such secret meetings themselves, and knew how to hide from the templars themselves, but he was almost certain that Irving knew, as he seemed to know everything that happened in the tower.

Alim walked up behind her, she seemed not to notice, too preoccupied to hear his soft footsteps. "Hello Senior Enchanter Leorah" he said, placing his hand gently upon her shoulder. She jumped slightly at his touch with a small squeal, which had him worried.

Leorah was not a jumpy person, it was not easy to take her by surprise, and if anyone did she was more likely to punch whoever had the audacity to sneak up on her than jump. The templars did not take it well when she knocked off their helmets though, but they relented as her talents in magic ran more toward healing.

_'Wait... did she just squeal?'_ he asked himself, shocked that he had heard such a thing _'it was... cute'_ he blushed slightly, and a certain part of his anatomy twitched, wanting to hear that sound more.

"Oh, hello Alim. Congratulations on your Harrowing. Is there something you need?" She seemed nervous as she said the last part but Alim chose to overlook it for now.

"Thank you, and congratulations on your promotion. Senior Enchanter, you must be thrilled." he said, making obvious his pride in her. She smiled widely at the look he gave her.

"Yes, it's been great, really, more responsibilities, having to manage things, make sure nothing goes wrong..." she trailed off with a worried look.

She was obviously bothered by something so Alim decided to be direct. "Leorah, What's wrong? You've wanted to be a senior enchanter for as long as I can remember. Now here you are newly promoted and completely on edge. Can you tell me what's bothering you?" Alim asked, sitting at the table beside her and resting a comforting hand on her arm.

Leorah looked at him for a moment before deciding to come clean. "Alright, the truth is there's a bit of a problem with the storerooms. They've been infested with giant spiders and I'm not sure what to do. I can't leave to deal with them myself and if anyone finds out about them they'll think I'm incompetent. I've only just been promoted, I couldn't handle the shame." Alim thought on her words for a moment.

He had nothing else to do at the moment and obliterating spiders would be good exercise. A poor excuse for wanting to aid his lovely teacher, he knew, but... "Alright, I'll help you." Her eyes widened for moment and she looked about to say something, but then she closed her mouth and her eyes softened and gleamed with an emotion he felt he recognized, but couldn't place.

More than three hours later Alim and Leorah emerged from the storerooms. Truthfully, it took him less than ten minutes to kill the two dozen spiders and burn the corpses into non-existence, but when he was about the leave the catacombs he found Leorah just inside the doors.

She was more than grateful and even rewarded him with a few poultices and salves. Alim figured they might come in handy at some point, and as he thanked her and turned to leave the stockrooms she stopped him with a kiss.

He deepened the kiss and picked her up by the hips, much to her pleasure, as she wrapped her legs around his waist, causing her robe to ride up and show off her firm legs.

* * *

><p>He was fixing his braid, having already fixed his robes, while Leorah was tying her long hair back into it's tight bun. He smirked, silently proud of himself, he had succeeded in making her squeal again, and again, and again, and so on...<p>

Once he had finished with his braid he made to turn to her, hugging her from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder, not tall enough to rest it on top of her head.

She turned her head to face him, and kissed him chastely once more, he reciprocated by sucking her bottom lip into his mouth. She moaned and looked at him with half lidded eyes with that same look in them that he had seen several times now but couldn't place.

"I love you" she said softly, as if all this was a dream and she would wake up if she spoke too loudly.

Alim froze, the sudden confession brought unto him a sudden awareness of what the look in her eyes was, what he was to her, what she was to him. Something that had plagued his soul, not having known what the warmth within was, but now being suddenly aware.

"I..." he started to say, but he could not finish it. After all these years together with her, and now more so than ever with her confession bringing enlightenment and understanding upon his heart and mind and soul, he knew without a doubt what he felt, and what he wanted more than anything to say.

But, for whatever reason that he did not understand, he could not finish it. Something, he did not know what, was blocking his words from coming out... no, he did know, it was himself.

He was afraid of... what? He did not know. He was not afraid that if he said it, that she would leave... nor was he afraid of her staying by his side if he said it... he was afraid of the templars separating them, but that was not what concerned him, it was not what had him paralyzed with fear.

"I understand" she said, causing his eyes to widen and tears to well. "You are a young man yet. No matter how smart you are, how talented or strong, you are but a young man. So young and inexperienced in the ways of the world. I know, you do not have to say it.

"I know" she said, grasping his shaking hands with her own, "that right now you are not Alim Surana, newly harrowed mage and poster-child of the aequitarian fraternity, nor am I Leorah Anarie, your tough-as-nails teacher. We are simply a man and a woman having fun with each other."

He tightened his hold on her, her words of kindness and understanding in the face of his supposed rejection grating upon his very soul.

"You do not have to lie to me. This dalliance has come to have deeper meaning to me, this is true, but I would never expect you to feel the same for someone like me."

But no matter how understanding she was to him, no matter how many compassionate or kind the words she spoke to appease him, she could not mask the naked hurt he saw reflecting in her eyes. She left his embrace and made to leave the room, but he grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to look into his eyes as the tears finally fell.

What he could not speak, he could only hope to convey with his eyes, the windows to his soul, windows that could hide nothing. Leorah looked into his ever expressive eyes and wept herself, for she understood that her love was quite requited, and in that she knew a joy greater than anything the ever dreamed she could feel. They fell against each other in an embrace, both of them weeping in unbridled joy and love.

"I can not say it, I know not why" Alim admitted, she nodded, having naught to say in return. "I will say it, just not yet. For whatever reason, I can not bring myself to." He said, and she nodded again.

The two then simply stood in silence, their tears having dried up. Nothing else needed to be said.

* * *

><p>Alim shut the door of the mage laboratory with a smile. Happy with the wonderful feelings now filling his heart to the bursting.<p>

Upon entered the hallway he ran into Jowan.

But his happiness was not to last.

"Hello, Jowan," He said calmly, turning to face his friend. Jowan jumped slightly in surprise, he had just been about to announce his presence to his friend when it seemed that he already knew he was there.

This was not doing his nerves any favors.

"Oh, good. I was hoping to find you." Jowan whispered. Alim's smile lessened slightly at the nervousness in his friends voice and the way he was looking around.

"What's wrong, Jowan. Your very jumpy today." He said imperiously, not liking this, and remembering how Jowan acted before...

"I can't say here. Lets go somewhere more private." He said skittishly, like a rabbit who would be scared away if he spoke too loudly.

"Jowan, this isn't like you." Alim said, following the nervous apprentice. "And why are we going towards the chapel? This is not exactly the most private of places for a mage."

"We need to be here. I'll explain in a second." Jowan muttered as he pushed the door open slowly, not wanting them to creak and possibly alert anyone. There were not any templars in the chapel at the moment, and only one Sister. Surprisingly, Jowan headed right for her, Alim in tow _'why is he...'._

"Ok," he said when they reached her alcove, "we can talk here." Jowan seemed to perk up when he stood next to the red haired sister, making Alim suspicions return full force.

"Jowan you do realize one of the Chantry's Sisters is right behind you, don't you? That's not exactly privacy as far as I'm concerned." Alim asked, studying her suspiciously.

She was certainly attractive enough, for a human (or a sister), she had red hair in a simply yet elaborate looking style, which when put together with her pink Chantry robes and vibrant green eyes... this was not his day it seemed. Each minute spent around Jowan today only seemed to add to his unwanted suspicions of his friend.

"Oh I'm not a sister, just an Initiate," she responded, _'which doesn't explain why your here, or how you got a mage to trust you so much,'_ she smiled slightly as she stepped up to stand beside Jowan, _'or maybe it does'_ he thought with narrowed eyes, the feeling of wrongness in his gut only increasing.

"Alim, you remember how I said I had, met a girl?" Jowan said, rubbing the back of his neck. "This is Lily."

"You... You can't be serious, can you?" Alim asked backing away slightly, his deer eyes widening and his long ears drooping in disbelief, hoping against hope that the two would start laughing at their joke, for it could only be a joke. Mages were ostracized enough as it was, and that included any romantic life they could have had, but with a Chantry sister (or an initiate)... Jowan, he could understand, he was always a little slow on the uptake, but she had taken vows against this sort of thing, she had given herself to the Chantry, mind, body, and soul.

"I am," Jowan said, gently gripping Lily's hand. "I know what your thinking-" _'I highly doubt it'_ "-but I love her." She smiled warmly at him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

He wanted more than anything to explode at his friend, reminding him about Arthur and Conan who had similarly been taken in by the wiles of a Chantry sister. Both of them had thought they had fallen in love (perhaps they did at that), but when the templars inevitably caught them in the act the sisters chose to, instead of face punishment or defend their lovers, label them mind domineering blood mages forcing them into illicit acts.

He wanted more than anything to explode at Lily, reminding her of the oaths she had taken, about how there must have been other initiates, sisters, mothers, or even clerics who had fallen in love (or lust) but chose to keep to their vows and abstain. He ask her what she thought made her so special that she could indulge herself without consequences when all others who broke their vows so callously were punished to some degree.

But instead, he just used his breathing techniques to calm himself down. His own recent experiences with love made him want to give them the benefit of the doubt, against his better judgement or not.

"Don't tell me you've only brought me here to talk about your affair. This is your business, and not an issue to be discussed at this point. You both are already in too deep to go back to normalcy so I won't try to talk you out of it." They both looked nervous at his stern look like a couple of small children caught doing something bad.

"No." Jowan said sourly, his face falling. "There is something else." He glanced helplessly at Lily, who was also frowning. _'Sod it all, this can't be good.'_

"I was in the First Enchanters office yesterday, and I saw something very disturbing," she said, and Alim could hear the genuine fear tinting her voice, something that made him reconsider her being like Sisters Petrice or Guenevieve.

"They are planning to make Jowan Tranquil" she said lowly, and Alim could almost feel his heart stop and his blood run cold.

"No, no that isn't possible " Alim whispered in horror.

Death was not the worst thing that could befall a mage of the Circle, it may be a particularly final sentencing, but there was the possibility of a better life afterwards at the Maker's side... not that he believed in such a fate for himself, as he was mots decidedly NOT an Andrastian, (he did not believe what some of the more vindictive Chantry members preached, that all mages were hated and cursed by the Maker and bound for the void). And, no matter what, you were yourself right up until the end, whether you went begging and screaming or silently and with a smile, it was always your choice.

Tranquility, however, was far worse. Using some ritual involving a lyrium brand, the templars cut the mage off from the Fade. This took away the person's magic, which could be considered a good thing, because that was what allowed mages to be possessed by Fade demons. Hence the reason Tranquility was offered as an alternative to the Harrowing.

The flip side was was that the process also removed all emotions from the victim. For all intents and purposes, the new Tranquil was an empty husk, able to exist, but not to truly live. Contrary to popular belief, however, tranquil still held their free will. It was only emotions and dreams that were lost, anything else like fighting ability or ambition or actual thoughts were still there.

There were some cultures that used tranquil mages exclusively as their armed forces. Since the tranquil did not know anger or fear, they could carry out orders to the letter without anything, not even common decency, from getting in the way. Anyone could tell right from wrong, but it emotions to care.

It got even worse since it wasn't just an option given to mages. Alim was sympathetic towards those like like Owain that had chosen their path, that at least it had been their choice.

There were others, however, who had Tranquility forced upon them. Those whom the templars considered too weak to pass the Harrowing, and therefor were taken away and forced to be Tranquil. They were murdered without even having the finality of death. The first time someone Alim knew had been forced to undergo Tranquility, he had been 9.

He had spent much of that night hugging his pillow and crying, partially because of her loss, and partially to reassure himself that he still could. To reassure himself that he was still a person and not an empty shell like his former friend.

His horror slowly turned to rage._ 'Those bastards are planning to take another friend from me?'_ he mentally hissed. _'Over. My. Dead. Body.'_

"Are you alright?" Lily asked worriedly, "you need to calm down, it's getting hard to breathe." This did not even begin to describe what was happening. Alim's fury was causing his magic to flare up, condensing the air around him. If anyone were to try to touch him, they would receive had their hands go completely numb for their trouble. Alim closed his eyes, then started breathing slowly.

He used his breathing techniques again, forcing his rage down. Finally, he opened his eyes. "Why? What excuse have they come up with?" The burning rage that had filled him was gone, but the two before him recoiled slightly at the cold hate in his voice.

"There are rumors, that I'm a... blood mage. They think that making me a full mage would put the Tower at risk." This admission made Alim pause. Rumors did not typically spring up from nothing, but to suspect Jowan...

"Are you?" Alim asked bluntly, hoping to goad an honest response from him by the shock factor of the sudden inquiry.

"Of course not!" Jowan insisted far too quickly, shaking his head vigorously. "But that doesn't matter. The templars only have to think I am. They'll take everything from me!" He wailed. "My magic, my soul, my love for Lily, all gone!"

"Jowan, I need to talk to you." Alim said quietly.

"But we are-"

"Privately" Alim insisted, dragging Jowan off towards the other side of the chapel. Lily started to follow, but backed off as Alim's icy eyes turned on her.

"What is this about?" Jowan asked. "Lily is helping-"

"How much do you trust her?" Alim interrupted his friend again. "We only have her word that this isn't a trap."

"How could you?" Jowan hissed. "I know Lily. She wouldn't be a part of any trap!"

"Are you willing to bet your life on that? She's one of them."

"No, she isn't!" Jowan retaliated. "I love Lily, and trust her with my life. Please, understand that. I know how you feel on these matters, but she is not like them!"

" Fine. On your head be it. Just know that I don't trust her." Jowan opened his mouth for a moment before closing it and walking stiffly back to Lily, followed by Alim.

"Will you help us?" she asked worriedly.

"I need to think on this... I won't tell anyone." He said, but then added when he caught Jowan's worried look.

"I understand, but please don't take too long." Lily said to him, and he nodded to her before he walked away to think about all this new information... as well as the suspicions that he did not want to think of, but were fitting too well into place to be coincidence.

_'Sod, I've picked a lovely situation for myself, now haven't I?'_


	4. Bound in Blood and Magic Pt 2: Betrayal

**Arcane Warrior**

**Chapter 3: Bound in Blood and Magic Part 2: Betrayal**

* * *

><p>Alim walked out of the Chantry, his footsteps slow and heavy and his mind weighed down by thoughts of what he should do. His sense of euphoria from his parting with Leorah gone, replaced with the knowledge that his friend might very well be put through the Right of Tranquility in the near future, that said friend had an illegal affair with an initiate of the Chantry, was suspected to be a blood mage, and that said friend wanted Alim to make him an apostate.<p>

He was only assuming the latter, but given the circumstances there was nothing else that Jowan would ask him to help with.

He was also infuriated with his 'friend' for getting him involved, secrets could not remain so forever, and once it got out, as it inevitably would, he would be labelled as a criminal for keeping this information to himself. Therefore, by helping Jowan escape and making him an apostate, the only options he himself had were to become an apostate with him or sacrifice himself to the templars to give him the chance to escape.

He knew in his heart that Jowan likely wasn't smart enough to realize it, but by bringing him into the loop and asking for his help, he was truly giving him no choice but to help.

Of course there was always the possibility that Graegoir knew of Lilly's affair and was using her, knowing that they would go to him, him and Jowan being so close, giving him the excuse he so wanted to get rid of him. But then again, Graegoir wasn't that much of a chess payer anyway, the man couldn't plan ahead to save his life, so he highly doubted it.

As he passed through the library, he picked up a book he had been meaning to read. He sat down in the hopes that reading the book would help to clear his mind as it always had in the past.

Alim sighed, it was a difficult place to be. If Jowan was truly using blood magic, and Alim was unsure he believed his friend when he denied the fact, then he deserved to be Tranquil. But there was no way to be sure. As a mage he knew his duty, and that was to report to the First Enchanter. Perhaps Irving would be able to calm his fears about Jowan being a blood mage if nothing else.

* * *

><p>"I trust you saw Duncan back to his quarters?" Irving asks, looking up briefly as Alim walked into his office once again.<p>

"Of course, First Enchanter." Alim said and looked around the room for anything that might play into his suspicions.

"I'm glad you met him. He's a most honorable man." Irving said.

"I agree. It was an honor to have met him." Alim says, genuinely honored to have met someone so important as the Commander of the Gray.

"Grey Wardens are peerless warriors who sacrifice all for our sakes." He ran his hand slowly across his head, deep in thought. "We can learn much from them. Now, did you need something?"

Alim stopped his pacing as he spied the books on the First Enchanter's desk. He had read practically every book in first two floors of the tower, and he recognized most of these titles. "Why do you have books on blood magic on your desk?"

Irving paused. "I've removed them from the library. I was…advised it might be unwise to leave them where any apprentice may read them. They will be put away somewhere very safe."

Alim sighed in disappointment, he was hoping that he wouldn't find something like this, the suspicions gnawing at his mind didn't need any added fuel any longer. At this point it was unlikely that Jowan wasn't a blood mage. But even if all the clues pointed in that direction, it didn't necessarily mean it was true, he told himself, not willing to believe his friend of evil.

The books in the library had given Jowan a very easy way to learn blood magic, if nothing else…he had to ask, there was nothing for it. His body tensed as he spoke. "When is Jowan going through the Harrowing?" His voice inaudibly trembled as he asked, and Irving raised an eyebrow at the seemingly out of topic question "When he is ready."

"He fears he is going to be made Tranquil." Alim admitted at last, somewhat relieved to tell one so much wiser than himself.

"And how does he know this? I suppose the young initiate he dallies about with revealed it to him" he said, shocking Alim into silence. He had suspected that Irving, as the master of the tower, might already know, but to hear it confirmed as a different matter.

"You think I didn't know?" He said to Alim's surprised face "I did not become first enchanter by keeping my eyes and ears shut." His voice was almost harsh as he said this.

Biting his lip, Alim continued. "So it's true?" his quiver audible this time.

Irving nodded, his voice soft again. "I'm afraid it is. Greagoir says he has proof—and eyewitness testimony—that Jowan has been practicing blood magic. I cannot say more. Were it left to me, things might be different. But the Chantry…" He sighed in surrender that he would have to punish one of his own so seriously. "I'm sorry child, this Rite of Tranquility will happen."

Alim looked away to hide his tearful expression, not that turning away did him any good as the sagely man saw it anyway and allowed him a moment of silence.

Jowan had lied to him, he knew the consequences for blood magic, and the truth of the matter made Alim's insides ache. His first instinct was to claim that Greagoir's testimony to be a lie, but he knew full well how Greagoir viewed mages, and he knew that even though that man distrusted them, he would not lie about such an important matter.

There was only one 'right' thing to do now. "You must know that Jowan plans to escape the Circle….he plans to destroy his phylactery." He ignored the fact that he was only assuming that last part, but there was nothing else it could be, it wasn't even a gamble, he was so certain of this that he would stake his life on it.

If a... he hated himself for admitting it... maleficar wanted to escape from Kinloch Hold, then they would certainly try to destroy their leash first.

Irving put his hands behind his back and walked closer. "And I suppose his lady friend is involved? Yes, she must be helping him. She would know more about the repository than he would. Do you know anything else?"

Alim shook his head. "No, I came to see if you could confirm Jowan's dabbling in blood magic before I proceeded."

Irving sighed. "I suspected Lily would tell him of the impending Rite if she found out. But I never expected they would have the gall to break into the repository."

"What will you do with Jowan?" he asked somewhat hopefully.

"Reporting him to Greagoir and the templars will accomplish nothing beyond what's already planned." Irving admitted, "if the Circle must punish one of its own, I will see the Chantry done the same courtesy. Lily will not walk free while my apprentice suffers." Irving's face was dark, and there was a undertone to his voice Alim didn't think possible from the calm, kind old man.

"Could you not just tell them she's involved?" He asked, already knowing the answer, but still hopeful that he was wrong and that the Chantry would deal out punishment to one of it's own and not make up excuses, taking the words of an elf-blooded human mage and his elven apprentice over that of a human initiate.

Irving shook his head. "If we mention her involvement, the Chantry will say she was framed. No, she must be caught in the act." Alim sighed—it was true. It was unfair of the Chantry to let Lily walk free. It was her information that led to the decision facing the three now.

"Jowan will become Tranquil, but Lily must also face the consequences of her actions." Irving continued in a grim tone, "How did you learn of their plan? Do they trust you?"  
>Alim pressed his eyelids together tightly, he had never known that duty would taste so bitter. "Yes, they do."<p>

"Good. Convince them you will risk all for their cause. I will be outside the repository with a contingent of templars. Let them see the mischief into which their initiate led our student." He said and tapped his staff on the ground (the loud crack signifying his surprising strength for his age) signifying that they were done, and Alim bowed and left.

Alim walked back into the Chantry and pulled Jowan aside one last time. "I need to talk to you about one thing before I decide Jowan." He said quietly, his soft voice rumbling in his chest.

His friend's eyes widened. "Really, what is it?"

"The rumor about you being a blood mage isn't true? Do you swear?"

"Of course not!" Jowan growled, frowning. "I'd never use blood magic. I've been sneaking around to meet Lily in secret. Maybe others have seen me and assumed I must be doing something forbidden. I suppose we are, but…they think it's blood magic, and it isn't." He pleaded, not knowing the irony in his statement. Using blood magic or dallying with a priest, both were crimes worthy of the Rite of Tranquility in the eyes of the Chantry.

Alim sighed, Jowan had sealed his fate. So be it, there was nothing more that he could do for him. "Alright then, I'll help you." His stomach still knotted as he spoke, he was pitting one loyalty against another here, and if he was wrong in this it would mean catastrophe.

Lily walked back to Jowan's side and smiled, holding her lover's arm. "Thank you. We will never forget this." Alim cringed inside. "I can get us into the repository. But there's a problem. There are two locks on the phylactery chamber door. The first enchanter and knight-commander each hold one key. But it is just a door. There is power enough in their place to destroy all of Ferelden. What's a door to mages?"

Her statement was... slightly insulting, to be honest. Of course her estimation of their power was flattering, but the casual and dismissive way she said it sounded like she was saying that mages not only could do such a thing, but would feel nonchalant or apathetic about such a thing as well.

_'What does Jowan see in her? I'll never understand humans.'_

It didn't help his opinion of her that she was already on his bad side for getting them into this mess.

"What if it's a magical door?" Alim mused, and Lily and Jowan's eyes widened, they clearly hadn't thought of that.

Jowan shook his head. "We have no choice. We cannot get our hands on both keys." He paused. "I once saw a rod of fire melt through a lock. You could get one from the stockroom—I'd do it, but Owain doesn't release such things to apprentices."

Nodding, Alim agreed. "I will go and retrieve a rod of fire." He gritted his teeth, he really had to get a hold of himself, he was going to give himself away if he kept fighting himself like this.

Lily looked up at Jowan, stars in her eyes. A look which Jowan returned in earnest.

After seeing the same look from Leorah, only directed at him, it became painfully obvious to him that she actually was serious in her devotion to his friend. His eyes softened at the sight, he had yet to return Leorah's confession. He decided to head to the laboratory after this to go see her.

Alim gripped his staff tightly as his heart gave a lurch, anyone capable of such love and devotion as he could see between them could never be so irredeemable, blood magic or not. "We should stay here." She said softly. "One mage at the stockroom will attract less attention than a mage, an apprentice and an initiate. Our prayers go with you" she said sincerely.

Just as there were a great many priests who viewed magic as a curse, a mark of the Maker's hatred upon their souls, there were those who viewed magic as a gift from the Maker. They viewed magic as as the Maker's gift to those chosen by him to protect and look after the world he had created and abandoned. Of course these were fringe elements of the Chantry, and only preached this philosophy in secret.

Perhaps Lily was such a one, and maybe that was why Jowan was attracted to her.

Either way though, Alim couldn't leave the room quick enough. The whole situation made him feel dirty, but what he was doing seemed to him to be the lesser of two evils. His heart beat quicker than when he had been fighting in the Fade as he hurried to the storeroom. Owain, the tranquil mage who managed the store room, was waiting there as he always was.

Alim idly wondered if Owain ever slept. But that was silly, he admonished himself, the man was tranquil; he may not have emotions, but he was still human.

For having no emotions, or perhaps because he had no emotions, Owain was very perceptive. "Welcome to the Circle's stockroom of magical items. How may I assist you?" He called out from the desk he sat behind as he saw Alim approach.

Smiling, Alim waved. "Hello again Owain. I need a rod of fire."

The Tranquil went back to scribbling on the pages before him. "Rods of fire serve many purposes. Why do you wish to acquire this particular item?"

Biting his tongue, Alim quickly replied. "I need it for a research project I am undertaking." He said, knowing that a convincing lie needed a reasonable and believable premise to build upon. He was just grateful that Owain was tranquil, otherwise the lie would need to be more complicated.

Alim may have been skilled in a number of areas, but his skill in lying was certainly his weakest area. That was not necessarily a bad thing, but under the circumstances...

Owain didn't look up from his work. "I will set down that you require the rod of fire to deal with a personal matter. Here is the form—"Request for Rod of Fire." Have it signed and dated by a senior enchanter. I will release a rod to you once I have the signed form." Owain said emotionlessly and efficiently.

Alim sighed as he took the form and walked away. He understood fully why mages were no longer to take from the storeroom freely and the need for all this protocol. All that needed to be said on that matter was that Lily's earlier statement about the tower having enough power to destroy all of Ferelden was not entirely an estimation.

It was thanks only to a young Irving's actions that they were not Annulled.

Part of him hadn't wanted to get away with fooling Owain. But regardless, he needed to find a senior enchanter to sign his slip. Of course, he could always ask Irving; the more he was seen with Irving, however, the more he feared Jowan would find out the plan. So, he had to find someone else.

He chose to go to Leorah. He was relieved that the laboratory was empty save for her when he got there, with nobody there he wouldn't have to lie to her which was the last thing he wanted. Of course he couldn't tell the truth either, doing so would have put the operation in jeopardy.

"Oh, hello again love" she said when she saw him, and he smiled and pecked her on the lips. "I need another favor."

"Oh?" she asked with an amused and teasing look "I should hope this favor won't be as draining as the last on I owed you, I can still hardly walk." She finished with a gesture toward her seated position. He blushed heavily and dropped his staff to wave his hands in the negative, causing her to burst out laughing.

He groaned to himself, she was normally strict and intimidating, when they were alone with each other she allowed her more playful and humorous side to come out.

_'I'm not so sure that's a good thing anymore'_ he thought in jest.

"Oh calm down Alim, I'm just playing with you," she said through her laughing. He couldn't help but smile as his depression over the situation with Jowan was washed away by her laugh.

Women were natural anti-depressants, they just had to smile or laugh, and it lit up the whole world.

"No" he said, trying to get back to the task at hand, "I just need you to sign this form." He handed her the form and knelt down to pick up his staff, cradling it in his right hand.

"A rod of fire? Alim, you know enough fire magic to burn down the tower. What's going on?" she asked sternly, she was now in her 'stern teacher' mode, somehow managing to be intimidating despite her sex induced inability to stand up.

She could have long since healed her legs with magic, but she liked the soreness.

He instantly sobered up, "I'm doing a service for Master Irving. I wish I could say more, but I just can't." She raised an eyebrow at his hesitant posture, but knowing how much he revered his grandfather figure, and knowing he would not lie about something like this, she relented.

"Sure, what harm could it do." She laid the form down on the table and dipped her quill into its ink well, causing him to sigh in relief.

He promised himself that if he survived all of this he would sit her down and explain everything. She would undoubtedly be angry with him for taking such a large risk to see one initiate brought to justice, but he knew she would understand his initiative.

"Thank you" he said retrieving the signed form and kissing her again, but lingering a little longer this time. They separated and he began to walk away, but was stopped short by a tug on his hand, so he turned around to see that she was still holding his free hand.

They shared a smile and a quick laugh before he left the laboratory. He blew her a kiss before he went out the doors, and she made a catching gesture and pressed the hand to her heart.

Alim quickly walked down the hallway back to the storeroom, lost in his thoughts.

It just occurred to him that if this all went badly, he might never see Leorah again. Or even worse, she might think him a traitor to the Circle, follower of a blood mage. That thought, more than any other, made him resolute in his first task as an official mage of Kinloch Hold.

The bald Tranquil's blue eyes stared at him. "Do you have the form?" The elven mage nodded and handed the paper over. Owain thoroughly looked the small piece of paper. "Everything looks to be in order." He walked over to one of the locked cabinets in the back of the room and drew a thin, white rod. "Here is the rod you requested." Slowly, Alim bowed and attempted to walk confidently out the door and down to the Chantry.

From the rate he was breathing, he assumed he was not accomplishing 'normal' behavior. Soon enough, however, he was at the Chantry, and he joined Jowan and Lily in their corner. He could hear Jowan muttering as he approached. Leaning in close to the two he said softly, "I have the rod."

Jowan's face lit up. "That was quick!"

Lily smiled beside him. "To the repository then, freedom awaits."

The three walked slowly, making small talk down to the first floor where the apprentice dormitories and the basement door were. Alim was sending out small magic bursts, just weak enough to blend into the ambient magic of the tower, to detect if anyone came to close and evade them so they weren't seen. And even if they were, a mage, an apprentice, and a priest were not that much of an unusual site to be completely out of place.

Priests normally took every opportunity they could get to convince mages of how much the Maker and the world he created loathed their very existence. Killing mages outright was ethically wrong, but talking them into severe depression and/or suicide was perfectly acceptable, the Chantry believed.

Still, he preferred not to take any chances.

Stopping outside the heavy wooden door to the lower reaches of the tower, they waited until the area was clear and then bolted into the basement.

The repository was unnaturally cold, Alim could see his breath mist before him. They walked the single passage for a while before coming onto a large wooden door, reinforced with many overlapping boards and large metal bolts. Besides the size, there was a small sparking of magic around the door that intimidated Alim, it was Knight Enchanter magic, being both mage and templar in nature.

He could not tell what kind of spell it was though, despite it being some kind of barrier.

The lady initiate piped up beside him. "The Chantry calls this entrance 'The Victims' Door.' It was built of two hundred and seventy-seven planks, one for each original templar. It is a reminder of all the dangers those cursed with magic pose." After Alim raised a rather accusatory eyebrow at her she quickly continued. "Initiates must learn the Circle's history if they are to work with templars and mages. The door can be opened only by a templar and a mage entering together. The Chantry provides the password which primes the ward, and the mage touches it with mana to release it."

"But Jowan..." he said, pointing out the apparent unnecessity of his presence.

She paused. "Only a mage that has undergone their Harrowing may open the door."

Nodding, Alim stepped closer to the door. "I trust you have the password?" he said in a clipped tone, noting from the way she said 'cursed with magic' was not in a disagreeing way in any stretch of the imagination, meaning that he was wrong in his earlier estimation of her, and that even though she was in love with a mage, she was not one of those who sympathized with mages.

"Yes. I got it from a templar who recently accompanied a mage into the vault," making Alim raise an eyebrow at her "and he wasn't suspicious of you?" He questioned her on her odd behavior, making Jowan roll his eyes at his friend's 'overly suspicious nature' as he said.

_'Wannabe sleuth.'_ Was Jowan's inward critique.

"We have chatted on many occasions, I believe he trusts me." She shrugged and pressed her hand to the door.

"First, the password. 'Sword of the Maker, Tears of the Fade.'" A clicking noise echoed, followed by a small hissing noise that indicated the release of the barrier. Lily lowered her hand and continued softly. "The password only primes the door. Now it must feel the touch of mana. Any spell will do, but hurry."

With a flick of his wrist, Alim fired a bolt of spirit energy at the door. The bolt dissipated and the door slowly inched open with a creak, his mind making it sound louder then it was from the stress. Directly in front of them now stood another large heavy door. The air was deadly still around the door as they approached, and Alim quickly pulled the wand out of a hidden pocket in his sleeve. Pointing the rod at the large silver lock on the door he directed his power through it.

Nothing happened.

Lily mewled beside him. "What's the matter? Why isn't it working?"

Alim carefully placed his free hand on the door. "I'm not sure..." He muttered looking the door over, tapping his staff on the ground in annoyance.

Jowan stared at his hands, then looked up at his love. "Lily…something's not right. I…can't cast spells here, nothing works."

His friend hadn't missed his attempt at magic, and had attempted an arcane bolt himself.

Alim studied the area around the door and saw runes on the floor and walls, the same runes etched into the walls of the harrowing chamber. "I read about these markings…they're wards. Templar work, they negate any magic cast within the area." He said finally, turning to face the other two.

Lily's face darkened in hopelessness. "I should have guessed! Why would Greagoir and Irving use simple keys for such a door? Because magical keys don't work!" She laid her hand against the door and her head against her arm. "How do you keep mages away from something? Make their powers completely worthless!" She growled and threw her hands into the air.

"That's it then. We're finished! We can't get in." _'You'd make a terrible mage, you would get possessed instantly with that defeatist attitude'_ were his thoughts that went unsaid for Jowan's sake.

Alim desperately wanted to turn back, to just leave Jowan and Lily to their fates, but he had sworn to Irving and himself that he would carry this through. "That door there," he pointed down the hall. "Where does that lead?"

Lily shrugged. "I don't know. Do you think it's another way in?" she asked with a voice so full of hope that he almost pitied her, and Jowan rested his hand on Lily's shoulder softly. "That door probably leads to another part of the repository. What are the chances of there being another entrance?" He glanced at his elven friend.

Alim shrugged. "It's worth a try, right? Who knows…we might be able to make another entrance if we get out of this anti-magic zone…."

The Chantry initiate and lone woman nodded. "We can't get into the chamber the way we planned but we're not about to give up" she said, confirming Alim's beliefs about her, her emotions swung too often and too out of control, which would have led to her immediate possession had she been born a mage, "we can see where this door leads, but I don't think it'll be easy…it looks locked for one."

Alim groaned in annoyance, when this whole debacle was over he was working on a spell that opened locks. Crazy that no mage had discovered one yet, but then again, he wouldn't know if one had been invented or not because the templars would have forbidden it from being taught.

"The rod will work on those locks, shouldn't it?" he asked, idly twirling the rod in his left hand.

She smiled slightly "yes, let's hope they haven't warded that door as well."

Jowan nodded, heading towards the door "let's hurry, we've wasted enough time."

The very atmosphere seemed to change as they moved away from the warded door. Wand still in hand, Alim aimed for the lock. Sure enough, the wand melted the metal lock easily. As the molten metal dripped to the floor, the door clicked open. Sighs escaped from the two humans behind him, relieved as expected.

What was not as expected was the clinking...as he turned around a suit of armor literally clamored over to them. If it had had a face, Alim assumed it would have been enraged; it was obvious from the raised greatsword that it wasn't there to escort them around the place. Lily hung behind Jowan as the two mages began to face off against the armor.

Instinctively, Alim took his staff into both hands and raised it up to block the overhead swing of the sword, and he then moved his staff up and to the left to put his opponent off balance and followed with a horizontal downward swing to knock it from it's feet.

Once the empty suit of armor was on it's back as intended, he thrust the tip of his staff at it's chest plate, and he pierced through it by coating the tip of his staff in a blade of arcane energy.

The suit's hands twitched in pain for a second as if in pain before it stopped moving.

"Wow, you didn't even need my help for that. Maybe I should just leave all the fighting to you." Jowan joked with a lighthearted look, while Lily just looked shocked that a mage could be so good at physical combat or that a willowy elf could be so strong. He didn't respond, simply turning to them with a stern look, which Jowan could only hold his hands up in surrender at "I'm joking! Just joking."

Every corridor and every room, more of those living armor creatures attacked, some of them even seemed to be mages.

Lily mumbled during the second attack about the 'unnaturalness' of it all, how the guardians were not of the Maker. Alim simply saw them as another example of Chantry hypocrisy. "No Lily," he started, getting annoyed at her attitude, "these things are not of the Maker. These things are of the Chantry, their sole purpose for existing is the wholesale slaughter of those who step out of bounds or go where the Chantry feels they don't belong." He almost shouted, gaining him an almost tearful look from the 'innocent' initiate and an angry look from her lover.

His eyes softened at the look she gave him. He loved women, he admired everything about the fairer gender almost to a fault, and to see the girl almost crying tore at his heart. "I'm sorry Lily" he said with a genuinely apologetic expression, leaning his staff against his neck and placing both his hand on her shoulders reassuringly, "it's just that I'm not exactly Andrastian myself, and the hypocrisy of these things angers me."

She looked at him like she wanted to argue with him, but she simply wiped at her eyes and lamented with a silent not.

Crates littered the halls and storage ways, and Alim found himself wondering what mysteries were stored in the deep places of the Circle Tower. It seemed they had no time to investigate though, as his two companions pushed him through the tunnels. The path stopped into a large room, filled to the roof with books, boxes and several statues. The three walked around the high-ceilinged room with wide eyes. Alim found himself drawn to a statue of a human woman in a back corner.

The statue was a masterful work of art and made of a beautiful white marble, and the woman depicted seemed to be a mage wearing ancient Tevinter robes, she held a staff in her right hand that seemed to be carved from the same marble as the rest of the statue.

The statue seemed to stare at them as they approached.

Jowan was the first to step past him and approach the statue "there's something odd about that statue."

Alim soon stood by him. "I wonder who this is, I mean it is obviously a female human mage from ancient Tevinter if the robes mean anything."

"Greetings." The statue's seductive voice seemed to echo.

"Maker's breath!" The apprentice gasped, and Alim's eyes widened remembering about how the Tevinter's had a form of punishment, transforming the offender into a sentient statue for all eternity. "Did it just say something?"

The spirit's voice echoed disturbingly "I am the essence and spirit of Eleni Zinovia, once consort and advisor to Archon Valerius. Prophecy my crime, cursed to stone for foretelling the fall of my lord's house."

"Archon Valerius?" Alim knew the archons were the lords of the Imperium—mostly overthrown when Andraste founded the Chantry, and Valerius in particular ruled during an unspecified time during the ancient age, who was killed and his house destroyed, just as the statue said.

"'Forever shall you stand on the threshold of my proud fortress,' He said, 'and tell your lies to all who pass…' But my lord found death at the hands of his enemies and his once-proud fortress crumbled to dust, as I foretold."

Lily trembled behind Jowan. "A Tevinter statue! Don't listen to it! The Tevinter lords dabbled in many forbidden arts! This is a wicked thing!"

Alim had to suppress a growl at her blind piety. He was an elf, and a direct descendant of Arlathian nobility, so he more than anyone had a right to hate the Imperium, but to hate something just because it came from that place...

She, on the other hand, had absolutely no reason to hate or even be afraid of the Imperium, except of course for conditioned hatred. She only had negative feelings for Tevinter was because someone told her to, and she had thoughtlessly obeyed like a child. The Imperium destroyed his ancestors lives and they were the reason mages were oppressed by the Chantry, so he had very good reasons to despise them, but her...

He had to calm himself down before the stale air down here became to thick to breath and he accidentally killed both of them.

It was in that moment that he decided that Lily was just as mentally addled as her lover appeared to be ever since this girl was introduced to him. Neither of them able to see the others faults. He had no idea how Jowan could have such devotion for her when every other word out of her mouth was an affront to mages.

_'Humans'_ he thought with a sneer.

"It must have been here for years." Jowan shrugged and wrapped his arms around his love. "Look at the dust. I feel a little sorry for it…her." He added quickly.

"Weep not for me, child." The statue continued. "Stone they made me, and stone I am. Eternal and unfeeling. And I shall endure 'til the Maker returns to light their fires again."

Alim shuddered. The punishment heaped upon this woman seemed like a crueler version of the Right of Tranquility. At least the tranquil could die, but to be cursed with emotionlessness as well as eternal life seemed to him like he would be doing her a favor by destroying this statue.

"What does that mean?" he asked, but Jowan spoke before she could respond "ambiguous rubbish, it could mean anything. I can do it too: The sun grows dark, but lo! Here comes the dawn!"

Creeping from behind Jowan, Lily placed her hands on Alim's arm. "Stop talking to it." She mewled. "Please, both of you."

"Yes, we have much to do." He said through gritted teeth as he threw Lily's arm off.

Lily just stood there for a moment, surprised at this elf's strength. She had always assumed that with his small stature and thin limbs, he would only be as strong as a child without the aid of magic.

Alim noticed her daze _'and she's racist too'_ he thought with a suppressed growl _'she probably wouldn't have even come to me with this if Jowan didn't talk her into it'_

Near the petrified woman was another statue, this time of a sitting wolfhound, perhaps an ancestor of the mabari.

The statue was slightly decayed, but Alim recognized it as an amplification device used by the Tevinters to amplify their magic. Against the adjacent walls were bookshelves, all old, but one seemed to stand out as it stood against a section of wall that looked like it was decayed by decades of dripping water. Jowan walked over to the wall and placing his hand to his chin. "I think the phylactery chamber is on the other side of the wall behind this bookcase."

Alim peered behind the bookcase. "The wall looks weak here."

"We should be able to find something that can knock some of the bricks loose."

The new mage already had a plan. "You'll have to help me with the bookcase then." Jowan nodded and the two mages lifted the shelf off to the side. Alim then went to the statue and rotated it to face the exposed wall and pressed the rod of fire to it's neck.

Of course he contemplated using one of his own spells instead, but the rod of fire, much weaker than a fireball bast by even the weakest of mages, seemed perfect to use on an amplification statue.

A stream of blue fire burst from the statue's mouth and burst through the weakened wall with a great tremor. For a moment, he was worried about being found out. If Irving had not yet informed the templars of his mission and they came down here and saw the melted lock, they would most certainly assume the worst and come to kill them all.

"Let's hurry, someone would have heard that" he said, interrupting Jowan and Lily's celebratory dance.

A short flight of steps led from the archive to the phylactery chamber, and to the left they could see the warded door from earlier, except it should be warded from behind so they would have to go back around. No sooner had their feet hit the chamber floor than three more living statues attacked them. Sticking with the established strategy, Alim used staff to knock them to the ground or keep them at a distance and his summoned spirit swords to attack them from range. Jowan and Lily could only stay back and support, Jowan couldn't cast spells as he had ran out of mana on the way here and he didn't trust Lily with any of the dropped weapons.

The enchanted suits were getting too close by using their superior numbers, so he summoned a more stable sword to use in his left hand in conjunction with his staff in his right. After destroying the two smaller suits, he focused his attention on the larger one.

This one was more of a challenge than all the others he had fought, it was the size of a kossith and had a large shield to go with it's greatsword. He parried it's sword with his staff and knocked it's shield away with his sword and pushed it into the wall with a blast of telekinetic energy. It stood up and gripped it's greatsword with both hands and rushed him, and they had a furious duel in which he had the shawl of his robe cut off and his back was cut open before he managed to behead the thing.

He panted and leaned heavily against his staff as he dismissed his sword and applied healing magic to his back. The cut was long but not deep, from his right shoulder to his left hip. He was running low on mana after all this and it would definitely scar, he sighed.

To the right was a stone stair up to a raised portion of the room, where multiple cabinets filled with red glass phylacteries were. Waving Jowan and Lily up, the three ascended the stairs. Suddenly Jowan pointed to a simple container on a far shelf. "That's my phylactery!" He cried, running towards it. "You found it!" Smiling the apprentice grasped the container. "I can't believe this tiny vial stands between me and freedom" he muttered, staring. "So fragile, so easy just to be rid of its hold over me-" the vial seemed to slip through his fingers, shattering on the floor "-and I'm free.". The blood seeped into the cracks on the floor and slowly disappeared.

Alim found himself shuddering, he didn't know whether it was at the cold of the room or the hissing noise Jowan's blood was making as it hit the cold air of the room.

"Let's get out of here." Jowan said, suddenly tired.

Even though their trial was over, guilt gnawed at Alim's heart. Jowan and Lily were going to face an opponent even worse than tranquility. And he would be the one to set them to their fate. His only friend...the worst betrayal.

Perhaps those who truly followed goodness always had to sacrifice... Alim prayed this would be the only time he would have to do something like this.

Sure enough, as they opened the door from the basement repository, Irving, Greagoir and a small contingent of templars were waiting. "An initiate, conspiring with a blood mage. I'm disappointed Lily." Greagoir muttered as he stepped forward. "She seems shocked but fully in control of her own mind. Not the thrall of a blood mage then ...You were right Irving. The initiate has betrayed us. This will not go unpunished."

His gaze turned almost immediately to Alim. "And here's your lackey, who so efficiently delivered these miscreants into our hands. Your plan worked after all."

_'Lackey? As if I am incapable of doing anything on my own'_

Jowan face flushed with shock. "You! Lily and I trusted you!" His voice shook with rage as he screamed at his friend. "How could you betray us like this?!" Alim jumped away, wincing as the newly formed scar tissue on his back was disturbed, backing towards Irving as the templars stepped forward.

Lily drew closer to Jowan. "We're trapped…"

"Enough." Greagoir commanded. "As Knight Commander of this Circle, I sentence this blood mage to death. This initiate has scorned the Chantry and her vows. Take her to Aeonar."

"The... The mages prison... no, not there... please..." Lily stuttered, clinging to Jowan as the templars drew closer around them.

"No! I won't let you touch her!" Jowan screamed, pushing Lily behind him. Without a moment's hesitation, he plunged a dagger into his hand. As the blood splattered himself and all around him, a wave of red magic knocked everyone but Lily to the floor, and everyone of them save for Alim, Irving, Greagoir and a female templar with blond hair was knocked into unconsciousness. Lily gasped and turned to her lover, backing up slowly.

Alim was shocked at the display, he knew this would happen, but seeing it was something different entirely.

"By the Maker, blood magic..." she muttered at first then wailed. "How...how could you! You said you never..."

Jowan turned to her, hand bleeding, pleading. "I admit...I dabbled. I thought it would make me a better mage..."

Alim gritted his teeth, he had lied to all of them!

Lily stopped, aghast. "Blood magic is evil Jowan. It corrupts people, changes them..."

"I'm going to give it up. Give up all magic...I just want to be with you Lily. Please, come with me."

"I trusted you. I was ready to sacrifice everything for you." Lily paused, tears running down her face. "I...I don't know you blood mage, Get away from me!" Jowan ran down the hall, and soon those knocked out by the spell were stumbling to their feet.

Alim sprung to his feet when he could move again, and as desperately as he wanted to chase down Jowan, he had see to his comrades first.

Alim ran to the First Enchanter's side, and soon the old man began to wake. Alim helped him to his feet as Irving spoke. "Are you all right? Where's Greagoir?"

The Knight-Commander was quickly at the First Enchanter's side, though he limped slightly. "I knew it…blood magic. But to overcome so many…I never thought him capable of such power."

Alim bit his lip, staring the way Jowan had run out. "He was lying after all." He knew he had done the right thing...but his blood still felt like poison.

Iriving leaned on Alim, quickly directing the mage to place healing spells on himself and the templars with what mana he had left. "None of us expected this." He said aloud. "Are you all right Greagoir?

Greagoir scoffed. "As good as can be expected given the circumstances! If you had let me act sooner, this would not have happened!"

"He can't have gone far." Alim muttered, glancing towards the tower's exit. "You could still capture him."

The templar glanced narrowly at him. "Believe me, we will use our every resource. Where is the girl?"

"I…I am here, ser." Lily squeaked from the corner.

"You helped a blood mage!" Greagoir growled. "Look at all he's hurt!"

"Knight-Commander I… I was wrong." Lily stuttered, and Alim did not try to defend her. "I was accomplice to a…blood mage. I will...accept whatever punishment you see fit. Even...even Aeonar."

"Get her out of my sight." The female templar quickly drug Lily away as the Kinght-Commander turned to Alim with a sour look. "And you. You were in a repository full of magics that are locked away for a reason."

Irving laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Did you take anything important from the repository?"

Alim shook his head, still in too dour a mood to say anything. Greagoir snorted "hmph. Some honesty at last. But your antics have made a mockery of this Circle! Ah…what are we to do with you?"

The new mage bowed his head. "Nothing ser, I was just doing as I was told." It seemed so much like Greagoir to let his temper get the better of him, now more than ever he wished the Circle governed itself.

The First Enchanter nodded. "As I said, he was working under my orders."

"And this improves the situation? The phylactery chamber is forbidden to all save you and me!"

"I had my reasons." Irving replied, crossing his arms.

"You're not all knowing Irving!" The Knight-Commander drew face to face with his old adversary. "You don't know how much influence the blood mage might have had. How are we to deal with this?!"

Suddenly a new voice joined the argument, and Alim turned to see Duncan. The Grey Warden smiled as the three turned to him. Indeed the Maker was smiling on the Wardens...

"Knight-commander, if I may…I am not only looking for mages to join the king's army." He said softly. "I am also recruiting for the Grey Wardens. Irving spoke highly of this mage, and I would like him to join the Warden ranks."

Greagoir's face reached an unprecedented flushed level. "What? You've promised him a new Grey Warden?"

"Alim has served the Circle well." Irving replied, evading the question. "He would make an excellent Grey Warden."

Duncan nodded, and stood next to Alim, smiling slightly at the young man. "We look for dedication in our recruits. Fighting the darkspawn requires such dedication, often at the expense of all else."

_'Even at the expense of friends and lovers,'_ he thought sadly.

"I object!" Greagoir cried, stepping closer to Duncan. "You say he operated under your instructions, Irving, but I do not trust him. I must investigate this issue, and I will not release this mage to the Grey Warden."

Alim turned to Irving. As much as becoming a Grey Warden was an honor, he could do so much more to benefit mages here. "But I am a mage, my place is here." He said softly, thinking of Leorah.

Irving placed his hand on the young student. "This tower is not the place for you. You have...a truly rare gift that must not be squandered."

Leaning in, he whispered. "Your time is just beginning. The Grey Wardens offer a chance for something more. Take it."

Alim turned away thoughtfully, he knew what Leorah would say in this situation, and as much as he would like to go to he for council, he knew that he did not have the time.

Duncan had turned his full attention to the stubborn Knight-Commander. "Greagoir, mages are needed. This mage is needed. Worse things plague this world than blood-mages, you know that. I take this young mage under my wing and bear all responsibility for his actions." He held out his hand to seal the vow.

Greagoir muttered darkly, staring at Duncan's hand. "This mage does not deserve a place in the Order."

"Why? Do we not reward service? This mage has served the Circle well." Irving turned back to Alim. "You have an opportunity few even dream of, do not squander it."

Alim bowed. "You honor me...But am I to leave the tower forever?"

Irving sighed, "the tower never forgets it's apprentices, but the Grey Wardens shall be your family now. You are luckier than you know, child."

With a nod, Alim took a place at Duncan's side as the Grey Warden shook hands with a reluctant Greagoir. "Duncan, First Enchanter, may I gather my belongings and say my goodbyes?"

Duncan looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, and nodded "you may, but do not tarry for too long. We must be gone by sunset."

"Thank you Commander" he said, truthfully he did not care too much about his few belongings, but he did not wish to leave without saying goodbye to Leorah.

He went to the mage laboratory first to see her and explain everything.

Once all was said and done, the two sat across from each other in silence. "Oh Alim" she started, but didn't quite know what to say, so he simply closed the distance between them and kissed her passionately.

Now that he was a gray warden recruit and not a circle mage he no longer needed to worry about getting caught.

When they separated, he leaned into her ear and whispered "I love you too."

Her eyes widened and teared up at his belated confession.

She jumped up onto still wobbly legs and grabbed him up into a tight embrace, where she could only cry bittersweet tears into his shoulder.

He smiled and set her back down into her chair.

After wishing her a heartfelt goodbye, and promising her he'd be back for her, he left to get his personal affects from his room.

Outside the door though, he met with Irving and Duncan, "Um..." he said intelligently, causing them to smile lightheartedly. "If I may, is there something wrong with that woman's legs?" Duncan asked, for he had seen many lose the ability in their legs either on the battlefield or off, so he was genuinely concerned for the older woman his newest recruit had an obvious romantic attachment to.

Alim blushed heavily and said "umm... you see, that's sort of my fault." He stammered, for he was still uncomfortable talking about these sorts of things.

Irving smiled knowingly and Duncan simply chuckled, "follow us, we have some things to give to you before you leave for your new life."

Alim looked up from the floor and followed them down the hall into his room. Once there he saw Irving handing him a beautiful silverite staff and a folded blue and grey uniform on his bed.

"This staff belonged to the hero of the third blight, an elven mage named Dorian Trialmont." Irving said, handing him the staff.

"And this is to be your uniform in the grey warden ranks. Our mage uniform normally doesn't have any plate armor, but seeing as Irving has informed me of your warrior training, I thought this would be best."

"Thank you First Enchanter, Commander."

"And with that, we shall leave you to prepare," they said as they walked quietly out of the room.

The first thing Alim did was strip out of his circle robe, not a hard task since the back was still torn wide open. He then sat himself down in front of his vanity mirror and summoned a spirit blade in the shape of small shears.

His waist length hair was well suited to a life of a quiet scholar, not a life on the road. He cut off his braid at his shoulders, and when the rest of his hair came loose of its confines, he used the shears to shape it.

When he was finished, his hair was shoulder length and swept back in a somewhat princely style.

Next, he went to his bed and picked up his uniform to change into.

It began with a black under layer, simple formfitting black trousers and a black long sleeved shirt. Next came the dark blue tabard with grey chain mail sewed into that ended just above his knees in the front but was longer in the back, splitting into two tails at his waist and ending just above his ankles.

The tabard was belted tightly to his body by the breastplate and fauld with brown leather straps. The breastplate was two layered and covered the area from just below his neck to just below his rib cage, and the fauld was two multi-layered plates belted tightly to either side of his waist and legs, and ending just above his knees.

Wrapping around his shoulders was a dark blue shawl, like on his circle robes, but this one had a high, stiff collar and extended down into sleeves strapped to his arms and tucked into his gloves. The shawl had a diamond pattern and had chain mail stitched into it.

Finishing the uniform were armored gloves and boots. The gloves were elbow length and hardened brown leather, with a grey forearm guard stitched into the backs. The boots were knee length and hardened brown leather as well, with grey metal shin guard stitched into them as well.

Picking up his staff, he left his room and met with Duncan who promptly and silently exited the tower and made the journey across the lake to the docks. As they made their way down through the whispers of the other mages and eerie slit-eyed stares of the templars, Alim knew there would always be a plus to living with the Wardens.

No templars.

* * *

><p>Alim's new staff is the one in the Magi Origin concept art.<p> 


	5. Road to Ostagar

**Arcane Warrior**

**Chapter 4: Road to Ostagar**

* * *

><p>It had been three days since they had departed from the tower, and the capital city of Denerim could be seen as a silhouette on the horizon.<p>

Duncan sat in silence, studying the soup that was bubbling slightly over the fire. All Grey Wardens learned basic outdoor cooking, and soup was one of the most common meals because it was easy to make and had a lot of nutritional value, depending on the ingredients. It also gave the cook time to think; especially if they had done it so many times before that the process became automatic.

Thinking was what Duncan was doing right now, considering the new Warden recruit he had conscripted at the Circle Tower.

Duncan glanced up, studying the young elf named Alim Surana. Most recruits were taken in their twenties or thirties, but at first glance Alim didn't look to be a day over eighteen or nineteen. This was deceptive, of course. Elves always looked younger than they were, this was most likely a holdover from the days that they were immortal. However, it was his eyes that stuck out to him. They, different from the face around them, looked far too old.

That made sense, considering that Alim had barely escaped the mess at Kinloch Hold with his life and was smart enough to realize that that was the case.

_'No,'_ Duncan thought, carefully pulling the pot off the fire and setting it aside to cool for a moment. _'There is more too it than that.'_ Alim's eyes had seemed too old from the moment he had first seen them, the young elf had just been better at hiding it at the time. Duncan supposed that he shouldn't be surprised, he had seen a similar look during his time with Fiona, an elven mage from Orlais who he had worked with when he was younger.

Duncan had never entirely believed the Chantry's propaganda about magic. True, it could be dangerous if misused, but so could a sword, and there were far greater threats in the world than mages.

"Alim," Duncan called, pouring the soup into two smaller bowls. The young man glanced up, letting the small stone drop into his hand before he threw it to the side as he stood and came over to Duncan's fire. He thanked Duncan quietly as he took the bowl of soup. The silence extended for a moment before Duncan broke it.

"What were you doing over there?" he asked, referring to the stone. Alim glanced up, and it took him a moment before he realized what Duncan had meant.

"Oh, this?" he asked, kinetically lifting the stone from the ground for a moment. Duncan nodded. "It's a magical exercise. It is designed to teach apprentices how to completely control their magic by using telekinesis to levitate small objects. I find it… calming. I have to focus so much on what I'm doing so that I don't have space in my mind to think."

"I was under the impression that levitation was relatively easy," Duncan said. Part of his interest was, in fact, curiosity. However, he also wanted to get a better feel for how Alim thought.

"Levitating, yes," Alim answered. "But levitating for long periods of time, levitating a sword and actually fighting with it as if you had a third limb, or even levitating oneself to give the illusion of flight, is more difficult. Especially the last exercise, I still haven't managed to succeed there, and I can't fight with a levitated sword for more than a few minutes" He glanced up, studying Duncan. "Why do you ask?"

"It is my duty as Warden Commander to understand the people under my command," Duncan said. "This is especially important for recruits who have had… traumatic backgrounds."

"How does learning about Circle exercises help you understand me, ser?" Alim asked.

"It's not so much the exercise itself as how you use it," Duncan answered. "You seem to know a great deal about these particular exercises, indicating that you have been using them as calming exercises for quite a while. This along with your pointed comments to the First Enchanter, make me suspect that there is something that happened at, or before you arrived at, the tower that continues to affect you."

Alim's eyes widened as Duncan continued, "and, judging from the fact that Irving didn't mention anything to me, you haven't talked about whatever happened to anyone." Duncan paused, giving Alim a chance to respond. When he didn't, Duncan continued. "Please understand, Alim, now that you have joined the Grey Wardens, you must leave behind not only your previous attachments, but also your previous prejudices and quarrels. As a Grey Warden, you will be expected to work alongside many different people, even those who may have wronged you in the past.

"You _cannot_ let your personal feelings get in the way of your duty, which is to defeat the Darkspawn and the Blight. Do you understand?" Alim nodded, perhaps slightly sullenly. Duncan let his voice soften, he had made his point "I know it's hard, Alim. After all, we are still mortal. Hopefully no situation arises that you will really need what I am telling you. Also, know that if you want to talk about your problems, myself and the other Grey Wardens are willing to listen, please do not hesitate to come to us if you ever want to talk.

You should know that a warrior free of burdens fights much better than one who carries such heavy burdens on his shoulders."

Alim studied Duncan for a moment before nodding again. "I'll consider what you said, commander." Duncan smiled slightly, not the best response he could have gotten, but much better than the usual one.

"Good, and please just call me Duncan."

"But, you're my superior. I could understand when I was still a Circle mage, you had no authority over me at that point, but now I follow your orders."

"That is true, but I have always preferred not to be called ser. It makes me feel old." Alim raised an eyebrow slightly, but smiled and agreed. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Alim's mind started to wander.

* * *

><p><strong>Flashback<strong>

_Alim sat across from Leorah and sighed, he had just finished explaining to her the situation with Jowan and Irving, and that he was to leave the tower to become a warden, and he was worried about her response._

_Would she lash out at him, angry that he had lied to her, and used her, in a way, to complete the task Irving had given him? Or would she praise him for completing his first and last official task as a circle mage and managed to become a warden?_

_He didn't know, and her silence was eating at him. "Oh Alim" she started, but didn't quite know what to say, so he simply closed the distance between them and kissed her passionately._

_Now that he was a gray warden recruit and not a circle mage he no longer needed to worry about getting caught._

_When they separated, he leaned into her ear and whispered "I love you too."_

_Her eyes widened and teared up at his belated confession._

_He smiled at her warmly "I'll come back for you, I promise" he whispered, but she simply shook her head. "No Alim, you may come back, but not to me. You are a Gray Warden now, but I am still a mage of the circle._

_"Even before all this I knew things between us wouldn't work." He shook his head, "we could-" he started, but she halted his denial with a finger to his lips "-no. I love you, but there's a whole world out there, begging to be explored, but you and I both know that that world isn't for me."_

_Alim's eyes softened, she was right, and he knew it. "You don't belong to me anymore" she said starting to tear up, "I..." she sniffed and jumped up onto still wobbly legs and grabbed him up into a tight embrace, where she could only cry bittersweet tears into his shoulder._

_"Now go..." she said, her words muffled by his shoulder, "and be the best gray warden you can be."_

_He could only nod, trying too hard to hold back his own tears to say anything._

_He no longer wanted to leave, no longer wanted to leave her, but he knew that duty compelled him to, and it was his duty that told him he couldn't come back for her._

_He told himself that when this was all over, he would try with everything that was in him to find a way around 'duty', he would do everything he could to see her happy again._

**End Flashback**

* * *

><p>"Duncan, didn't you say that Ostagar was where the Darkspawn were attacking?" Duncan nodded.<p>

"Yes, but we have to pick something up from Denerim before we go. It won't take long, and the fighting has not yet begun at Ostagar. That being said, we should not dawdle, either."

"What are we picking up?" Duncan shook his head slightly.

"Just something for your Joining. I'm afraid I cannot reveal what it is just yet." Alim opened his mouth, but Duncan interrupted. "Nor can I explain what the Joining is. You'll find out soon enough."

Alim was curious, but knew it was better to curb his tongue, so he remained silent and finished his soup.

Once done, they put their supplies away in their packs and climbed onto the horses that Duncan had rented from the stable at the Lake Calenhad dock and rode off along the side of the imperial highway.

* * *

><p><em>'It's been so long since I was here,'<em> Alim thought to himself as he and Duncan entered Denerim.

The Chantry in this city had been where he was initially taken after his magic was discovered, before was taken to the Tower.

Duncan lead the way through the crowded market, ignoring the many cries of merchants hawking their wears, and the babble of shoppers moving between stalls, considering items and haggling with the shopkeepers. Alim followed closely behind, keeping an eye out for the pickpockets he knew haunted the area. Duncan slipped quietly into an alley, and made a few turns before arriving at an old warehouse. He turned to Alim.

"Stay here for the moment. I'll be out before too long." With that, he entered the warehouse. Alim, meanwhile, leaned back against the wall, making sure to keep a hold of the reins.

"Hey knife-ear!" called a sneering voice, "what are you doing out of your dump." Alim glanced up, narrowing his eyes at the sight of three human men approaching from another alley. All three looked rough, none of them were carrying large weapons but probably had knives stashed from the roguish look of them. No armor, just dirty clothes. If it came to a fight, Alim gripped his staff harder with his right hand and gripped the reins with his left.

"Yeah," another of the men snickered, approaching Alim "this here alley is too good for the likes of you." Alim raised his eyebrow. His chain mail laced tabard and armor bearing the gray warden crest, though dusty from his time traveling, was still far cleaner than these ruffians' rags.

The three had formed a half circle and the man in front was invading Alim's personal space.

"Gentlemen" Alim said sardonically, "I would not recommend annoying me. In case your tiny brains can't put together the meaning of my tabard and my staff, I feel I must inform you that I am a mage, and I am a gray warden at that.

"I will not hesitate to act if you throw the first blow, but not until then. So I suggest that you leave me in peace."

The first man snorted, though Alim noticed a spark of fear in his eyes at the insinuation that he was biting off more than he could chew, but he kept up his bravado in front of his companions. "Even if you are one of those freaks, we still have you cornered. Now I recommend that you give those cloths to whatever warden you stole them from, apologize to your betters and get back to the Alienage before we lose our tempers."

Alim rolled his eyes, he had to prevent himself from antagonizing them further when the thug to the leaders right said "dirty little knife-ear thinks he can talk to us like that, and pretending to be a warden no less. The nerve..."

He didn't particularly mind the insult, but it made him pay closer attention to him if nothing else. He was Leorah's age, but looked far older from all the stress lines and the grey balding hair, and he had a scar stretching from just above his right ear to the left side of his jaw.

A scar that he recognized, clear as day. His eyes widened as he thought of that day, the day before he woke in the circle tower.

"You!" He pointed his crackling staff at him menacingly, causing the three of them to back away in fear.

He could clearly see a glint of recognition in the man's eyes at being singled out by the elf. Dark skin and silver hair were not very common after all.

"Is there a problem, here?" Duncan said as he exited the warehouse. The three started, staring at the armed and armored man that had suddenly appeared. Alim, meanwhile, lowered his staff and reined in his rage at seeing that man again.

"No problem, ser," the man with the scar said, worried that the elf would rat him out to the authorities. "This little knife-ear was just giving us some lip, we'll deal with him."

"I think not" Duncan said coldly, "you see, I am a Grey Warden, and this is my recruit. Now I ask you kindly to leave us be."

Two of the ruffians seemed inclined to follow Duncan's instructions. The scarred man, however, because of either stupidity or a misguided belief in his own superiority, stayed put. "I feel sorry for you Grey Wardens if a murderous knife-ear is the best you can get. I'd be doing you a favor if I killed _it_."

Alim had had enough. With a hiss of rage, he thrust out his left palm, throwing all three men away from him in a wave of telekinetic energy. The two "smart" ones got the message, and fled. The third let out a roar of rage and sprang to his feet, drawing a knife. Alim raised his hands, fire licking at his fingers.

"Come one step nearer, and I _swear_ I'll kill you, you son of a bitch." Alim growled furiously. The man looked like he was seriously considering doing just that but was too proud to run from an elf, so Alim turned to Duncan and swallowed his pride.

He really wanted to kill the man who's name he refused to utter, even in his own thoughts lest he unintentionally put some curse on him due to his own rage, but he knew that the wardens didn't need any more enemies with their already tumultuous position in Ferelden.

"Duncan, that man... we must take him to the guards." Duncan rose an eyebrow at the recruits request, but that 'murderous' comment had him curious. "Why is it you wish this? I don't believe I was in that warehouse long enough for him to have done anything unforgivable to you."

"I-" he started, but had to swallow the lump in his throat "-it has to do with what you asked me at camp. I can't say anymore, I'm too angry, and he'd probably just get off on hearing about it."

Duncan furrowed his brows in thought, but upon looking at the man he thought that he did recognize him from somewhere.

Saying nothing, Duncan picked up the man by the arm and ignoring his shouts of protest, pulled him along to the guard captain. After some words exchanged between the two, the guard captain spat in disgust and ordered the man carted off to Fort Drakon.

He could only smile smugly, knowing that the man had finally gotten what was coming to him. The guards at Fort Drakon were not exactly kind to their prisoners.

"Let's go, Alim." Duncan said quietly, leading Alim away from the marketplace. They walked in silence for a time, in case the other two men decided to ambush them. Eventually, however, Duncan spoke. "I feel there's a story behind your actions. Would you like to talk about it? Why you were so angry at that man?"

"…Sure. Now that he's finally facing punishment for what he's done, I feel I can finally talk about it. It has to do with how I was sent to the Circle…"

* * *

><p><strong><em>Flashback<em>**

_(WARNING: Skip ahead if you are feint of heart, don't say I didn't warn you.)_

_Alim, seven years old, slipped silently through the cornfields of Lothering near the house his family stayed in. He looked slowly around, as if searching for something, or perhaps someone._

_"Got ya!" a girl squealed from behind him and he was tackled to the ground. He struggled for a moment, but found he couldn't get away without hurting the person holding him._

_"Ok, you win Seri" he groaned and she rolled off of him. He looked over at his cousin, a cute six year old with dark skin and golden hair. He dusted himself off as she giggled._

_"How many times have I won again?" she asked mock-sweetly and Alim tried to glare at her, but started chuckling, unable to stay mad at her for very long._

_"I've lost count too, I blame your mother." Serade Trialmont was Seri's mother and Alim's aunt. The woman was a talented warrior, having married one of the town's templars and he then taught her all he knew so she could defend herself, and she seemed determined to teach Seri and Alim to be the same, but it was clear to all that Seri was the more talented of the two._

_"Well, well. What do we have here?" a cold adult voice said. Both Alim and Seri turned, spotting a group of humans standing casually around. Alim slowly pushed Seri behind him, never letting his eyes leave the smirking human leading the group._

_"It looks like a couple of rats have wandered out of their hole." He turned slightly, grinning to his comrades. "What do you boys say? Up for a bit of sport?"_

_"Run!" Alim hissed and the shivering Seri nodded, taking off toward their home, it was their hope that if these men recognized Ser Bryant's home they would quit the chase. They heard the sound of the humans giving chase. Alim and Seri knew this area well enough to duck and dodge around the farmhouses that dotted the place, having played tag quiet often._

_However, their short legs simply could not match those of the fully-grown humans. Alim desperately pushed forward, hoping against hope that some miracle would save them._

_There was a flash of flying metal, and one of the hunters fell, a throwing knife sticking out of his leg. At the end of the alley stood Serade, fury etched into every line of her face. Drawing her sword and shield, she advanced._

_"GET AWAY FROM MY BABIES YOU BASTARDS!" she yelled, driving the humans back with the sheer force of her will. Alim and Seri quickly took refuge in their house._

_They huddled in a corner and clung tightly to each other, trying to drown out the sounds of battle coming from outside._

_As skilled a warrior as Serade was, there were just too many of them. She managed to take down most of them, but in the end three of them managed to overwhelm her._

_The two children screamed when the door was blown open and Serade, bloody and whimpering in pain, was thrown through. The men limped through the doorway and picked up the whimpering form of Serade "it's time we showed you your place, you knife-eared bitch!"  
><em>

_"MOMMY!" Seri wailed, rushing forward to her mother. Alim could only stare '_no… no this can't be happening.'

_The men caught the girl and restrained her "the kids come to" the leader said, and his followers thoughtlessly complied. One of them carried the whimpering Serade up the stairs, one of them carried a struggling Seri, and the leader saw to him personally._

_He struggled and tried to bite the man as he grabbed him by his hair and pulled him up the stairs. He could only cry as they passed two ajar doorways, through which he could hear Serade and Seri's screams._

_The man threw open the door of threw him in against the bed. He turned and slammed the door behind him, and __Alim was rattled by the action, which caused the Chantry necklace around his neck to fall off. Shakily he reached for it, clasping it between his small hands before he was pulled from the bed. The large man forced him to his knees, face pushed roughly against the sheets._

_Alim was stripped, his clothing being ripped roughly from his small form. He knelt compliantly, grasping the pendant of his necklace as if it were his lifeline._

_"Turn, boy," said the man, his tone leaving no room for interjection._

_His eyes narrowed as Alim felt a shiver run though his body. He stifled the urge to cover himself as he turned on both knees, hands clasped around his back. The youth averted his eyes when he saw that the man had dropped his pants, grinning with a perverse laugh._

_Deep chuckles could be heard with the shuffle of feet, forcing Alim to look up at his captor._

_"Open your mouth," he said._

'No... I don't want to...no...'_ Alim complied despite himself, parting his lips. His mouth was stretched open as sweaty mass of flesh entered, tongue burning with a sour taste. His throat closed as he gagged on the mass, saliva collecting on the sides of his mouth._

_"Gagging already? Heh...Don't worry. You'll learn..." the voice was coated with honey, but it hardly masked the true nature of the words._

'No, I want to do this. I won't!'_ Fingers cradled the pendant gently as Alim thought out a fervent prayer. Once finished he opened his jaw as wide as it would go, clamping down on the object as hard as possible after._

_The events to follow were pure hysteria. Alim eventually found himself face down on the bed, enduring immense physical punishment. His skin burned from the lashes as he strove to remain still, waiting out the pain._

_"You will learn to obey me!"_

_Alim cried, quieting any sniffles that collected in the back of his throat. _'Maker... oh please Maker. Please...'

_The punishment ended as his grip loosened on the pendant. He thanked the Lord, believing that he was safe for now. But such bliss was short-lived as the unbearable urge to vomit rose within him. Alim's body froze, his spine protesting against the mass pressing against his insides._

_His body ached all over, protesting against every sensation flooding his veins._

'Maker no...no please. Don't let this happen to me. Why me? Why?!'

'But wait'_...there was still the Maker. The Maker was there, hearing his silent screams._

'Maker'...thought Alim, clutching the cross in both hands. 'Maker please...grant me one wish...'

_He pleaded silently with the Lord, he pleaded for all this to end. That he would awaken from this nightmare and he would go play with Seri while Serade and Ser Bryant watched from the porch._

_An unfamiliar emotion began to fill him up at the unceasing agony coming from his backside, an emotion directed at the pain he felt for causing him such distress, at the man and his followers in the other rooms for destroying his life, at the Maker himself for ignoring his prayers and letting this happen._

_Hate._

_He never felt true hatred before, childish anger certainly, but never this. His hatred began to grow, he felt something begin to awaken and move within him. Something... warm and welcoming, something that promised to stop this._

_He gave in to that feeling, and it began to grow inside him till he felt as if he were about to burst!_

_The man convulsed above him suddenly, and his eyes widened as he felt a white hot liquid erupt into his bowels with such force that it made his eyes pop. That was the lest straw, as the feeling inside him burst forth from his body bathing the entire house in a purple glow._

_"DAMN YOU ALL!" he screamed, and suddenly, an aura of fire rose up around him scorching the walls, ice began to coat the walls only to be melted by the fire only to freeze again, water began to burst from the well near the house like a geyser, all around the village the trees began to lean heavily as the wind blew in a fierce gale and the earth began to shake causing the house and those surrounding it to slowly fall apart._

_His eyes glowed a pure and furious white with the light of the heart of the fade and he squeezed his amulet so hard that it shattered._

_"What the fuck… this kid's a mage!" the man shouted, backing away. Alim walked menacingly out of the room after him, the act of god that he had conjured lashing out at anyone who approached his cousin and deceased aunt, staying away from them and sparing them further pain. He heard screams of pain, which was good. These evil people should **suffer** for taking his aunt from him!_

_The basement was full of swords, his aunt's private collection. They reacted to the magic field he had summoned and burst through the floor and surrounded him in a whirlwind of steel. One of the swords reacted to his anger at his rapist and flashed forward to cut him across the face. The man fell to the ground in pain and glared at him through the haze of his own blood._

_However, Alim simply didn't have the stamina to keep it all going. Before long, his sight started to dim. He fell slowly to his knees, still trying to strike out at the humans, but not having the strength. He watched the murderers flee, his cousin shake Serade's lifeless body, and an through the door ran Bryant._

_Just Bryant, he was no longer Ser. The Maker had abandoned him to his torment, and he no longer believed._

_It didn't help that the templars, the Maker's 'instruments of divine justice' were too late to stop any of this from happening._

_He glanced around him at what had happened, and then walked over to crouch beside Alim._

_"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I should've been here sooner. I never thought this would happen. I'll take you to people who will look after you, and I'll make sure Seri get's the treatment she needs and Serade... a proper burial." He lifted Alim up as the boy slipped into unconsciousness._

**Flashback End**

* * *

><p>"… After that, I woke up at the Tower. I later learned that that man had gotten away from punishment by claiming that he was innocent, and that it was all an uncontrolled burst of accidental magic from an elven child." Alim finished. He and Duncan had left the city, and were heading south on the old Imperial Highway to Ostagar. Duncan was silent, his gaze haunted.<p>

"Of course he got away with it. I was just an elf child, a mageling no less, and he was a human. Of course the authorities took his story at face value instead of investigating. That was also the day I stopped respecting the Chantry, of course the things the people at the tower did to us mages didn't help with that."

He was startled out of his spiteful musings when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he looked over to see that Duncan was giving him a reassuring look. He stopped talking and looked down to his horse's neck.

Duncan and Alim continued their journey silently, each lost in their own thoughts.

* * *

><p>Almost a week later, with Ostagar a not too far now, Alim awoke to the sensation of Duncan shaking him by the shoulder. "Duncan-"<p>

The older Warden silenced him abruptly, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "The camp is in danger and we are about to be attacked. I need you to stand watch over the horses. If I am to fall, you are to ride to Ostagar with all haste and inform the other Wardens of what has transpired. Do as I say!"

Heeding Duncan's words, Alim quickly took up his staff, heart pounding with tension. He would have liked to eat something before any fighting was to be done, but the urgency of the Commander's tone suggested that there was simply no time. Drawing forth his longsword, Duncan covered it in ashes from the fire pit to dull the blade. "I'll be back shortly. Stay quiet, and stay safe, and this is for you" he ordered, giving him a longsword and darting into the darkened woodlands that surrounded their camp.

He studied the sword for a moment, it was quite beautiful, even sheathed as it was. The sheath was a dark blue leather outer layer with a metal under layer with the gray warden standard set at the base, and hilt was dark blue leather with a long silverite pommel, and the guard was silverite as well with a slight curve facing toward the blade, a small oval dark blue gemstone fit into the center with what looked to be elvish writing inscribed into it.

He strapped the sword to his belt and unsheathed it with his left hand. The blade was silverite as well, and was a good length and tapered to a point smoothly without the triangular shaped tip of most swords, and had a thin blood groove running down the length.

Alim stood next to the horses, forcing himself to breath slowly and stretch out his limbs in preparation for battle. Until his recruitment, he had never been outside of the Tower's walls, so the sights and sounds of the countryside were largely alien and unfamiliar, particularly after nightfall, where darkness and weariness worked to befuddle the mind.

For the first few nights, everything was a source of peril; the wind whistling through the trees became bounty hunters and templars intent on slaying him, the rustling of small animals through the undergrowth became darkspawn, ready to pounce. Time had taken the edge off, but now, roused from slumber and facing peril, the fear returned.

He now understood how dwarves coming to the surface for the first time felt, going barefoot and gripping the ground with their feet out of fear that they would fall into the sky, jumping at every unfamiliar sound thinking it was some alien threat.

Blood pounding in his ears, Alim willed himself to calm as he peering into the night. The fire had long gone cold, but his elven eyes saw in the dark well enough and he could see neither hair nor hide of an enemy. Refusing to relax his vigilance, the elf considered how Duncan, with his lesser senses, could have known of a foe's presence when he did not.

Simple experience? Had he been so weary as to be oblivious to the world around him, even in sleep?

Then he caught the smell; a rank, vile odour, the combination of spoiled milk, rotting meat and vomit. An instant later, Alim heard limping footsteps on fallen leaves, a thick gurgling cough, broken only by deranged mutterings as the figure staggered into the clearing.

It was a human, a farmer by the looks of him, his practical garb soiled with dirt and blood. A chill ran up Alim's spine as he saw the newcomer's face; pale white with black vains pushed against the skin, blotchy and pallid and covered with weeping sores. Tainted yellow eyes stared in the elf's direction, while blackened saliva ran down his jaw to stain the grass. "It's so beautiful," he muttered, raising arms covered in lesions. "It's so wonderful to hear…"

"Who are you, ser? What's wrong?" Alim asked, raising his blade in a defensive stance. This man was very, very sick, and as much as he wanted to give aid, Duncan's warning was fresh on his mind.

"It's the song!" ranted the human, coughing forth a fresh batch of saliva. "I hear so much now, I understand everything! The whole world, united in song! It will be beautiful!"

"What song?" demanded Alim. Behind him, the horses whinnied in fright. "I have some medicines that might help, ser, but you need to stay right where you are." For all of his bravado, he had never killed anyone before, ghoul or no, for it was clear that was what this man was. The thought of doing such, even to a ghoul, made his stomach turn.

"You do not understand, you do not listen!" barked the pitiable creature. A chunk of hair fell from his skull, and he shambled forward, reaching behind his back. "But I will make you listen."

The knife emerged, a crude, rusted thing, blade sodden with blood. "Stay back," Alim warned, aghast at the sight. Had Duncan fallen, silent and unnoticed in the darkness?

"This is your last warning. I don't want to hurt you, but I will if I have to. Stand down."

The vile stench accompanying the stranger increased many-fold, and Alim turned to see a half-dozen more emerge from the night to surround him; men and women, all bearing the same sickness. "We will make you listen," the first snarled, rushing forward headlong. "Listen listen listen listen listen listen listen LISTEN!"

The blow was poorly directed, a mad slash that Alim quickly dodged before running the assailant through with his sword before he kicked him off the blade. But then the others were upon him, lashing out with shovels and pitchforks and blacksmith's hammers, frenzied, wild, driven insane, completely unconcerned with self-preservation. They were beyond reason, beyond saving.

Only one course of action left.

Alim met their advance, sweeping his staff and knocking a few to their backs, twirling the blade and driving it into one. Shockingly, the madman seized the guard and pinned the sword into his own body. Alim fought to retrieve it, but the foe had a strength that was utterly unnatural for someone so sick and mortally wounded, even more so considering his own willowy frame, and the third of their number lunged for the elf, hands closing around his neck. "You will listen!"

Gasping for each breath, the air now rank with their rot, Alim dropped the staff and punched his assailant straight in the mouth, once, twice, thrice, sending him spinning away, spitting black blood.

He was too shocked by the sudden and horrifying situation to even think to use his magic.

But there was more, always more, swarming him, burying him under the weight of numbers, the night split with the sounds of their insane ranting, the scream of the horses and the elf's cries of defiance. His belt knife shone for a moment before he plunged it into a foe's heart, and he was dimly aware that whatever ague had affected them so might be contagious…

And then the pressure suddenly lifted as Duncan appeared, left hand ripping one of the attackers off him while the longsword in his right impaled the lunatic. The remaining three abandoned Alim and launched themselves at the older Warden but Duncan was too fast, and three severed heads fell to the ground. "Are you alright?" Duncan asked, pulling Alim to his feet. "Have you suffered any wounds? Did any of their blood enter your mouth, anything of that nature?"

"No, I don't think so," Alim replied, quickly running his hands over his body to check. but then it dawned on him, he was not wearing his gloves or boots, not having had the time to put them on when he awoke. There was a long jagged cut on his palm that would surely scar, but the mere pressing concern was the black blood seeping from it. Thinking back, the ghoul who grabbed his sword must have done it when he was focused on freeing the one at his throat.

"I owe you my life, but this is going to ruin my whole day" he said, showing his hand to Duncan. "This looks serious, but fortunately I know of a cure."

"What is the cure?" Alim asked, but Duncan simply turned away.

"You are to be a Warden, Alim Surana," Duncan replied, striding over to the final attacker who was still lying on the ground and spitting out broken teeth. Rearing up, he made to attack, only to be cut down with a quick slash. Duncan, the elf noted, was fairly splattered with the ink-black blood of their attackers, but seemed to pay it no heed, making him think that gray wardens must have some level of immunity, and it became apparent to him what the cure was. It seemed there had been more out there, all of which Duncan had dispatched. "The Wardens look after their own."

"What in the Maker's name was wrong with them? They were utterly out of their minds!"

"Ghouls," Duncan explained _'as I thought'_ he thought sourly. "Men and women infected with the darkspawn taint. It strips them of their reason, their sanity, everything but the will to serve their dark masters. There should not have been any this far north…"

"Could something have happened to the forces at Ostagar, then?"

"Unlikely. If they were either destroyed or forced to retreat, then we would know. There is only one truly efficient route for the horde to take in order to enter Ferelden from the Wilds, but there are passes acceptable for small bands such as this. We should be cautious."

"Agreed," said Alim, suppressing a shudder of fear at what would happen to him if they delayed. "We should leave this place immediately, in case more arrive."

"Yes" Alim muttered, calming the horses before throwing his things together. Within minutes, they were gone, speeding into the darkness as safely as they could manage, the blood and bodies of the ghouls the only signs of their passing.

"So-" Duncan started "-did you find any difficulty wielding that sword?"

"No, should I have?" he asked, confused by Duncan's question.

"That sword is of elven make, and as you have perhaps read elven swords of such high quality are enspelled to only allow a blood relative wield them." Alim nodded, he had indeed read about such things, but wondered where Duncan was going with this and who the sword previously belonged to.

"I didn't know if you would be able to wield it or not, but it was a thought I had when I was at the warehouse in Denerim. That sword once belonged to Garahel, and Shartan before him." Alim's eyes widened considerably at the implications of Duncan's remark.

"Shartan's sword... then this is Glandivalis?" he asked, "no. That sword is Glamdring, Shartan had more than one sword, you know." Duncan chuckled, leaving Alim in awed silence.

* * *

><p>Three days later, they crested a small hill, and Alim first laid eyes upon Ostagar.<p>

A thousand years earlier, the Tevinter Imperium had stretched across the boundaries of the known world, an empire fueled by dark magic and slavery, and commanded by the twisted magisters. The Imperium had advanced in every direction, seeking new lands to conquer and resources to exploit, before eventually finding their way to the edge of the Korcari Wilds, a strange and inhospitable wilderness at the suthern edge Thedas.

Even for the Tevinters, with their endless hunger for land, slaves and blood, the idea of conquering the Wilds ultimately proved to be unfeasible. The land was too harsh, too distant from the Imperium's settled territories, and the cold swamps and forests provided little of material value. Moreover, the Chasind Wilders that dwelt within paradoxically seemed to be both too scattered and few to make the Imperium's slave trade profitable, while at the same point being able to unify into considerable hosts to bedevil the northern invaders.

And so, the unstoppable Tevinter war machine halted their southwards advance, and to shield themselves from the Wilders, erected the fortress of Ostagar. Built high upon the cliffs overlooking the Wilds, Ostagar had repelled numerous Chasind assaults during the Imperium's reign, and had never been breached or captured by the enemies of Tevinter.

Of course, it was eventually all for naught. The First Blight had destroyed much of the Imperium over the course of nearly two hundred years, weakening its hold over the outlying territories. Andraste's Exalted March had nearly finished the job, forcing the Imperium to abandon southern Thedas before the Prophet's betrayal at the hands of her mortal husband Maferath. Ostagar had been vacated and left to rot, but even time and neglect could not bring it down.

The sight of the old fortress was breathtaking, and Alim allowed himself a moment to stare in wonder. Ostagar had been built to protect a narrow pass that led into the fertile heartland of what was now Ferelden, and he was stunned by the sheer hundred-foot walls that covered the gorge and by the numerous old towers built along the ramparts, one in particular along the eastern side of the fortress reaching several hundred feet, almost as tall as Kinloch Hold. Looking upon the old ruins, Alim suddenly felt small in the face of it.

Even a thousand years later, the fortress still held up considerably well. The craftsmanship abilities of dwarves were truly something to be respected.

"How big exactly is the army?"

"Just over ten thousand men," Duncan answered. "A considerable host, but not as large as it could be. When I left King Cailan at the assembly point, many of Ferelden's nobility had yet to commit their forces. I can only hope since the following battles, additional reinforcements have arrived to bolster our numbers."

"You mean they've already engaged the darkspawn?"

"Three times prior, and after each battle the darkspawn simply retreated into the Wilds to bolster their numbers with reinforcements emerging from the Deep Roads. By now, they look to outnumber us significantly."

"Will the forces we have be enough to stop the darkspawn? If nothing else, Ostagar looks like it can be defended."

"I do not know if our numbers are sufficient, but you are correct in your assessment of our defenses. Even a thousand years later, Ostagar is a bastion to be respected. It must be, if we are to stop the Blight."

"And what if we can't hold them here, Duncan?" Alim asked. "If the fortress is breached, then what?"

"Then Ferelden will fall," the elder Warden intoned gravely.

Leading their horses on, the two Wardens dismounted at an impromptu bastion on the eastern edge of the fortress meant to watch for threats coming along the road. The horses left in the hands of trained grooms and a report made about their recent nighttime ambush, they made their way beneath the shadow of the largest tower, a massive edifice that overlooked the entire fortress and the lands around it. "This area of the fortress has been designated as the King's Camp. The bulk of the army, along with the full-fledged members of the Order, are encamped in the valley below."

The elf's eyes widened. "The King's Camp? You mean-"

"Ho, there! Duncan!" came the enthusiastic boom, and Alim turned to witness the speaker approach, accompanied by a quartet of knights in full plate, the human's massive golden armour, silver greatsword and long blonde hair shining in the sun. For a moment, the elf froze in utter disbelief.

"King Cailan," Duncan greeted the newcomer, giving a small bow. "I didn't expect-"

"A royal welcome?" the King of Ferelden quipped, placing a friendly hand on Duncan's shoulder. He was a young man in the prime of life, perhaps about twenty-five years of age, a bear of a man standing at 6'2"-6'3", vigorous and well-built, with a confident demeanor and a lust for life.

He was the heir of Maric the Savior and a scion of Calenhad the Silver Knight's bloodline, inheriting the land that his father had liberated from the yoke of the Orlesian Empire and restored to its former glory; yet if he felt the weight of all that history and the shadow of his lineage, he gave no sign of it.

For better or for worse, Cailan was not an elder statesman or a peerless diplomat, but a fighting king, a man far more comfortable drinking with and warring alongside his soldiers than politicking with domestic nobles and foreign dignitaries. Alim felt respect for the man already.

"I was beginning to think you'd miss all the fun!"

"Not if I could help it, Your Majesty," came the wry reply.

"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all. Glorious!" Cailan crowed. "The other Wardens told me you found a promising recruit. I take it this is he?"

"Indeed, Your Majesty. Allow me to introduce-"

The King gave a small snort of derision. "There's no need to be so formal, Duncan, we are to be riding into battle together, after all." Walking over, Cailan enthusiastically shook Alim's hand as if they were two old comrades finding each other again, and not a King and the lowest of his subjects. "Ho there, friend, might I know your name?"

"I am Alim Surana Your Majesty, of the circle of magi Kinloch Hold" said the elf. In ordinary circumstances, he might have considered bowing, but Cailan didn't appear to be particularly overly concerned with courtly formality.

"Pleased to meet you. The gray wardens are desperate to bolster their ranks, and I for one, am happy to help them. You said you are from the circle, I trust you have some spells to help us in the upcoming battle?"

"I will do my best of course, Your Majesty."

"Excellent, we have too few mages her and another it always welcome." Once again the large man extended his hand, and Alim reached out to shake it.

"Allow me to be the first to officially welcome you to Ostagar Alim. The wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks." He smiled widely at his king's praise.

"What is the status of the army, Your Majesty?" asked Duncan, eager to get down to business. "Have any more nobles committed their troops?"

"Troops from Highever have arrived, at long last," Cailan answered. "About a hundred men under Bryce's son Fergus arrived about a week ago. I put them to work as part of the scouting teams."

"But Teryn Cousland himself has not come?" Duncan inquired.

"No, he hasn't, and neither have the troops from Amaranthine. It's very strange; young Fergus told me that his father and Arl Howe would be no more than a day or two behind him." The King gave a shrug, as if the absence of two of his more notable vassals was a triviality. "Then again, the Coastlands are rather stormy this time of year, perhaps the weather delayed them? I'm sure they'll arrive eventually, but as it stands, I don't think we'll need any more men, not with how swimmingly the battles have been going."

"Your uncle sends his greetings, and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week."

"Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory," Cailan remarked mockingly, rolling his blue eyes. "We've won three battles against these monsters already, and tonight should be no different. We've been tracking the horde's advance through the Wilds, so by the time they approach the fortress, we'll be ready to send them scurrying back into their holes."

"You sound very confident of that, Your Majesty," Alim remarked evenly. The King seemed entirely at ease about the impending darkspawn onslaught, and the elf had no idea if Cailan was simply putting on a carefree front for the sake of morale, or he truly believed the Blight was no challenge to his forces.

For the sake of Ferelden, he hoped it was the former.

"Overconfident some would say, right, Duncan?" Cailan jested.

Duncan maintained a diplomatic, cautious tone in the face of Cailan's self-assurance. "Your Majesty, I'm not certain the Blight can be ended as quickly as you might wish."

"To be honest, I'm not even sure this is a true Blight. There have been plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, no sign of an Archdemon."

"Disappointed, Your Majesty?" Duncan inquired wryly.

"I'd hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding into battle with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god. But, I suppose this will have to do."

"We should return to your tent, Your Majesty," one of Cailan's bodyguards said, a heavyset man with greying hair. "Most likely Teryn Loghain will wish to review our strategies."

"Yes, Elric, of course. Sorry to cut this short, but I must return before Loghain sends out a search party," Cailan sighed in frustration. "Farewell, Grey Wardens."

As the King departed, Alimlet out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. "Well, that was unexpected."

"To an extent," Duncan explained. "King Cailan is a major ally of the Wardens in Ferelden, and is one of our strongest advocates, especially with the Blight at our doorstep. And what he says is true; they've won several battles against the darkspawn so far."

Alim caught the elder Warden's worried tone. "But at first glance, he seems to be taking it rather lightly." Duncan gestured for them to start walking into the camp, and he compliantly followed his commander.

"His glibness stems in no small part from our presence. He believes that our legend alone makes him invincible, a belief he ferments to further inspire his men. I stated before that much would be expected of you; now you see why. To that end, we should proceed with the Joining ritual immediately."

"Is this some sort of initiation rite?" asked Alim, genuinely curious.

"Of a sort, it is also your cure. Each Grey Warden must go through the Joining in order to become a full member of our Order. For the moment, I cannot tell you more. Suffice it to say that we do what is necessary."

Alim frowned as he heard that most weighty of phrases. Duncan had explained a great deal about the Wardens and the darkspawn on the journey, but the Joining had never come up. Why would he have to hide it? "Very well then. What do you need me to do?"

In response, Duncan tossed him a pouch of coins. "Feel free to explore the King's Camp as you wish, all I ask is that you do not leave it for the time being. There is another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair; once you've prepared yourself as you see fit, find him and inform him that it's time to summon the other recruits, a knight named Jory and an archer named Deveth.

"Once that is done, the next step of your initiation begins."

"Understood, Duncan, and thank you."

"Do not thank me just yet. There are many trials left to come," the older man intoned, bowing to the recruit before he turned and walked away.

* * *

><p>AN: One piece of Alim's past has been unlocked. My apologies that this took so long to post, I've been busy and honestly... this chapter was very difficult and painful to write... I threw up twice.<p>

I apologies for posting when this chapter was only half done, but hopefully this will be a more satisfying read. Please review.


	6. The King's Camp

**Arcane Warrior**

**Chapter 5: The King's Camp**

* * *

><p>Crossing the bridge that spanned the gorge, Alim permitted himself a moment of rest to shake off the aches and pains of his long journey.<p>

Leaning on the ramparts, the young elf took in the endless swamps and forests, the snow-capped peaks so tall they seemed to pierce the sky. At least a hundred feet below him in the gorge, the army of Ferelden made preparations for the next battle. His keen purple eyes witnessed barricades being assembled, companies of spearmen and swordsmen and archers going through various drills, while the wind was alive with the sounds of shouted orders and boastful cheers.

Further back, nestled at the northern mouth of the gorge lay a massive camp, itself fortified and packed to the brim with the cream of Ferelden's soldiery, along with many of their retainers, servants, stewards, priests, armorers, camp followers, laborers and all of the other non-combatants who frequently followed in the wake of armies. It was clear that this was an experienced and well-prepared host; had Duncan and King Cailin never mentioned those missing nobles, he doubted he would have even noticed.

He just stood there for a moment, taking it all in. He had read about such things as the sights he was now witness to, and while this world was much larger than was much larger than what he was used to, that being the circle tower, and faint memories of the countryside around Lothering.

He had to remind himself that this, Ostagar, was only a small corner of Ferelden, which was a small country on the south-east of Thedas, which itself was only the one continent of their world.

* * *

><p>She sighed, frustrated that captain Varel had seen fit to assign her with the task of picking up his custom sword from the quartermaster rather than one of his servants. She ran her hands through her short hair as she walked down the ramp, she could be doing something better with her time, training, speaking with her brother or one of her few friends, drinking with her brother or one of her few friends...<p>

She supposed that she'd better get this over with now before her captain started throwing things.

"Hello..." she said to herself as she skidded to a stop when she passed near the bridge. There was someone she hadn't seen before. Leaning forward with his hands on the railing of the bridge was an elven young man, he was obviously a mage judging from the staff and grey warden mage uniform, though she guessed that the armor plate on his uniform and the rather lovely sword at his side meant that he had at least some talent as a warrior.

He was a moderate height for an elf, standing at 5'7", his frame was muscular but willowy and his eyes were large and deer-like, and were a rather magnificent shade of purple. His skin was on the darker side, something not commonly seen in Ferelden, and his shoulder-length silver hair was swept back in a style that suited him. His ears were long and leaf shaped, she could see why people used the phrase knife-ear as they actually looked sharp from a distance.

Though she didn't find that to be a bad thing, she actually found it to rather endearing.

She bit her lip, trying to stifle the rather dirty thoughts that arose in her mind at the exotic elf. Once she no longer felt a growing arousal, she walked over to the bridge to have a few words with him.

* * *

><p>"Enjoying the view?" a woman's voice asked teasingly, and Alim turned to see one of the King's soldiers approaching; a young woman with raven hair, pale skin and fade-fire blue eyes.<p>

She wore a black, red and silver outfit with plenty of belts, a single shoulder guard, and brown leather gloves and boots with finger and toe armor. (The Fugitive's Mantle, The Fugitive's Gauntlets & The Long Trek), and an assortment of weaponry strapped to various places on her body; a shield (Lion of Orlais) and a spear (Staff of Parthalan) were strapped to her back, a curved longsword (Fadeshear) was belted to her waist, and an unstrung longbow (Recurve Bow) rested on her back beside the spear.

He could safely assume from her variety of weapons that she was very skilled.

"It's not so pretty once the darkspawn swarm all over the landscape, but for the moment, it's nice enough."

"Are you perhaps speaking from experience?" Alim asked, quite curious about this dangerous woman who carried such an odd assortment of weapons but only wore light armor.

"Well, three battles worth of fighting the monsters certainly counts," she said, gazing upon him with startlingly blue eyes. "If nothing else, it certainly gives you an appreciation for the simple things in life. But where are my manners? Corporal Marian Hawke, Third Company of the King's Own," she introduced herself, offering her hand.

Alim took it, feeling her strength beneath the gauntlet. "Alim Surana, of the Wardens."

_'He's so well spoken and polite... be still my heart.' _she thought as she fought back a blush.

"A pleasure to meet you Alim. I've seen the Wardens in action since the army arrived. The King's trust is well-earned, I can say that much. If you don't mind, why are you not in the main camp with your fellows?"

"In truth, I've only just arrived," the elf admitted sheepishly. "I'm a new recruit to the Order, and our Commander, Duncan asked me to get equipped and find another Warden here in this camp."

"There's no shame in that." She said with a stunning smile that he couldn't look away from. "Everyone has to start somewhere. Well, I'd be happy to show you around. Captain Varel has me running an errand up here, so I'm heading to the quartermaster anyways."

The two soldiers fell in step, passing companies of archers drilling along the ancient bridge. "As I understand it, this is the King's Camp, correct?" Alim asked.

"Right," said Hawke. "The bulk of the army is down below, but this space on the cliffs has been reserved for the King and his entourage, along with most of the other notables. We have the Circle of Magi here, along with a pack of those bloody Templars lurking around them." He cocked an eyebrow at her apparent dislike for templars, usually it was only mages and mage supporters who held any level of dislike for the knights of the Chantry. "Teryn Loghain is here, the Grand Cleric… If you're looking to find key figures in this army, this is the place. Myself, I'm on the valley below at the main army camp," came the quip.

"So what brings a 'real soldier' up here then?" Alim replied with equal good humor.

"Captain Varel had a new greatsword forged for himself by the blacksmiths up here. The main camp has its own logistical staff, but on occasion, we've asked those in the King's Camp to help out. It's a job for a messenger, actually, but the Captain wanted at least some of us to know the layout of the defenses on the cliffs in case we're ever forced to retreat."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"Agreed. The King's Camp is very secure because the trails and paths leading up to the cliffs are narrow and winding. It's good if the darkspawn try to storm the heights, but there's no way the army will be able to quickly retreat up them en masse. That's one of the reasons why the bulk of the army is encamped on the low ground; if the darkspawn attacked, there's no way a significant force could deploy from the heights to stop them in time."

He hummed in thought, it seemed to him to be a good strategy. "Before I left the tower, First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Graegoir were arguing about most of the senior enchanters having left, are they down there?" he asked, "no. I raised the issue with the higher ups, but they are still kept under lock and key in their quarantined little area of the king's camp." She said, and he could see the honesty and irritation in her eyes.

"Maker forbid they be allowed to use their powers for good" she muttered bitterly. It was official, he respected this woman more than he did the king now.

He furrowed his brow in thought, if the forces down below were intended as shock troops, then it would make sense to have a contingent of mages with them, their wide area spells could devastate the darkspawn ranks. Depending on the mage, a wide area spell, elemental or not, would be able to take down at least a dozen darkspawn, and that would, if nothing else, soften their forces up significantly for the archers to engage them in long to mid range, spearmen to engage them at mid to close range and leave the rest to the swordsmen and other close-range fighters at close range.

"How's morale? Will the army hold?" Alim asked, dropping the subject.

"They'll hold, I promise you that," Hawke replied firmly. "The King thinks this is all going to end with one huge battle the bards will sing about for centuries, and most of the men were determined to prove him right. As for me…" The young woman gave a small shrug. "I like to hope for the best and plan for the worst. In either event, we'll have our work cut out for us," looking to him with a smile.

"Hope for the best and plan for the worst, eh? That's brilliant, can I use that?" She simply chuckled and nodded in response.

The two entered the King's Camp proper, and Alim took Hawke's tale to heart, purple eyes catching every detail possible for future reference. The mages had their own encampment on the southern side, 'quarantined' as she said, just behind the battlements, their tents hidden behind a crude palisade and surrounded by the plate-armoured templars of the Chantry.

Several of the mages were moving about the camp, though the grand majority of those did so under templar guard, the Chantry was as always unwilling to allow their control over the Circle to slip, even in the face of the Blight. In the face of all of this hypocrisy, he was glad he could honestly say that his heart no longer belonged to the Andrastian faith.

Further west, the young elf could hear the barking of warhounds and men crying out in pain, while groups of priests roamed around the camp, offering blessings and comfort to the assembled soldiers. To his pleasant surprise, Hawke was not the only armed woman present; more than a few soldiers were female, and were armed and armored much the same as their brothers in arms.

On the southwest side, nestled in the ruins of a collapsed tower and overlooking the valley, two great tents had been erected. The first was an opulent, lavish domicile; its rich, bright yellow silk befitting a king, while the second was a more utilitarian structure of heavy blue canvas. Banners flanked the entrance ways; the first tent marked with the hounds symbol of the Theirin line, while the second had standards depicting a golden wyvern on a field of green, the emblem of the Terynrir of Gwaren.

_'That must be Loghain's tent'_, Alim realized, thinking back to his grandfather's stories of the Teryn and his rise to power from a simple farmboy to Ferelden's greatest general. "Have you met Teryn Loghain, Hawke?"

"Eager to find out if the man matches the legend?" she asked him with her hand on her hip.

"Doesn't everyone?" replied Alim with genuine enthusiasm. For so many, Loghain was not merely a powerful noble, but a symbol of Ferelden's triumph; the vanquisher of the Orlesians and proof to the rest of Thedas that in Ferelden, any man could rise to greatness on the basis of his merits alone. Unless you're an elf or a mage, of course, he mused darkly. "How often does one get a chance to meet one of the country's greatest heroes?"

"Touche," Hawke remarked. "Well, I've only met him once or twice, but he seems alright. He's a very good general: he's tough, smart, knows how to inspire the men. Just don't go expecting a new drinking buddy; he's not a very sociable man, especially not these days."

"Has something in particular happened?"

"Well…" Hawke paused for a moment, blue eyes glancing about. She put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him in close. He blushed when he felt her breath on his ear as she started to whisper "I really shouldn't gossip, but it's better you learn this from me instead of accidentally treading on dangerous ground. From what I've heard, Loghain and King Cailan have been arguing lately about Queen Anora, and while the teryn is loyal to the king, he's also the type to stand by his daughter no matter what it costs him. Combine that with disputes over battle strategy, and the two aren't really pleased with each other right now."

Alim nodded in understanding, taking it all in. He had known that Cailan had been married, of course, the proclamations of a royal wedding some five years earlier had reached all of Ferelden, though they had found out little about the specifics. "So Loghain isn't merely Cailan's top general and his father's best friend, but also his father-in-law. I think I'd rather face the harrowing again than be in Cailan's place right now."

"Exactly. And he's known Cailan since the King was a babe, so they're not really the type to stand on ceremony together, especially if they've had any ale," Hawke elaborated. "Myself, I think one of the only reasons we're doing so well is because of Loghain's strategies. Just… be careful what you say around him."

Frowning, Alim considered the implications. The two most senior leaders of the army quarreling: if they could not resolve their differences and focus on the fight ahead, it could prove disastrous. He had always heard that the nobles of Ferelden were a fractious bunch; he just hoped it wouldn't end up costing them all in the end.

He sighed in exasperation, it was just like the fraternities but on a larger scale.

"This way" Hawke urged, and the two turned north to an impromptu supply depot. Teams of laborers, many of them elves, distributed crates full of weapons and armor to waiting soldiers, honing their blades on grindstones and repairing broken chain mail links. The young woman had to speak up to be heard over the constant ringing of hammers against metal. "Quartermaster Bagley? You have Captain Varel's sword ready for me?"

"Just give me a moment," the quartermaster replied irritably, engrossed in the contents of a ledger. Finally deigning to look up, the portly man gave an infuriated scowl at the sight of Alim. "You there, elf! Where's that armor I asked for half-an-hour ago? And why are you dressed so preposterously?" he demanded, stabbing a stubby finger at the elf's tabard.

"Because I am a Grey Warden?" Alim asked dryly, secretly enjoying the sight of the human's face turning red with shock, "and do you treat all your servants so poorly, or is today a special occasion?"

"Oh, I, eh…" stammered the quartermaster, realizing he had said far too much. "Uh, pardon my rudeness, Grey Warden, it's just that, well, things have been mixed up a bit, and those elves that have been hired are no help at all…"

Alim gave a contemptuous snort. "Truly? Workers aren't very productive when their boss holds them in contempt, you know. I'll have you know that elves are very hard working and strong if given the opportunity to show it.

"Perhaps it would be best if you treated them better in the future, ser," the elf suggested frostily. "Now then, if you're done insulting potential patrons, I am going to need supplies, while Corporal Hawke here has to pick up a sword for her captain."

"Right, of course. Give me one moment," babbled the quartermaster, scurrying away before they took further offense.

"You definitely get results," said Hawke. "I'm rather impressed."

"I guess beautiful women just motivate me," Alim jested, hoping he hadn't overstepped his bounds.

Hawke laughed, flattered. "A romantic, then? Do you think that's an advantage or a liability in a Grey Warden?"

"I suppose we'll find out soon enough," replied the elf.

Ducking away for a moment, the quartermaster re-emerged mumbling excuses about cluttered inventory before passing Hawke a massive greatsword, the hilt stamped with the emblem of a bear.

He was impressed when she took it, not being weighed down by it at all. It seemed that, in addition to her skill in a variety of weaponry, she was very strong as well. She was growing to be more and more appealing to him by the moment.

"Uh, I apologize for any offence I have caused you Warden, these past few days have been very stressful is all, and I am honestly at my wit's end. Again I apologize." The quartermaster said, bowing in respect. Alim thought for a moment, and seeing his apology to be genuine and that he was not just kowtowing because of his position, "you're apology is accepted. But maybe you should treat you're servant's better in the future..." he replied, offering a bow in return.

"Yes ser, I shall try to be more forthcoming in the future. Again, sorry for the confusion."

The soldier smiled as Alim passed the armory staff, elves and humans alike, some coins, oblivious to the look of contempt coming from the quartermaster. "A romantic indeed. Shall I assume that rescuing kittens from trees is next on the agenda?"

"You disapprove?"

"Hardly," Hawke chuckled. "When the threat is this big, it's so easy to lose sight of the little things, and the people fighting it. Good to see that not everyone is focused solely on death and glory."

"And what about you, Corporal? What drives you?"

"My family," Hawke stated. "My little brother is part of the Third Company as well, and watching out for him is a full-time job. Oh, if you meet him don't take offense to anything he says, he's a bit of an arse. My mother and younger sister are back in Lothering, and right in the horde's path if we fail. Just another reason to fight, right?" she said, cracking a weak smile.

"We won't fail, Hawke. If the rest of the King's army are anything like you, we'll have the darkspawn running for the hills in no time." Alim stated with all honesty.

"Flatterer," the young woman replied with a pleased smirk. "I should return to my unit. But it was nice meeting you Alim, and good luck to you."

"You as well, Corporal... Uh, may the Maker watch over you and yours." He said with some reluctance, he didn't believe but it was obvious that she did.

"He'd better, or I'll have some stern words for him. Farewell." He smirked at the way she talked about the maker _'I think I'm__ in love'_.

"Oh, don't worry, love," a new voice interjected, and a thin human emerged beside Hawke, taking her hand and raising it to his lips.

Her smile dropped and she cocked an eyebrow.

"See I'm a Warden too, and you can count on me and my mate here keeping you safe. Of course, life is fleeting, and stranger things have been known to happen than a lovely bird like yourself getting slain by those monsters. If there are any last requests I can grant for you…"

Hawke fixed with him with a stare cold enough to snuff out an inferno. "Shall I take that as a no, then?" the newcomer asked.

A swift motion and the newcomer was on the ground, rubbing his now-tender jaw. "Interesting companions you'll have to fight alongside, Alim," said Hawke, relaxing her fist. "I'll see you around."

"Same to you, Hawke," the young elf said, smiling despite himself. "Now why did you ever think that would turn out well?" he asked the human who had so rudely propositioned the young woman, even as she disappeared into the crowd.

"He who dares wins, isn't that right?" came the reply as the human sprang to his feet.

Crude as he might have been, he did not lie about one thing; he was indeed wearing the uniform of the grey wardens, the rogue variant which was not so different from his own, but it lacked the metal forearm and shin guards, and had a single thin griffon-shaped shoulder guard. At his hip was a short sword with twin daggers on the opposite side, while an unstrung shortbow (Bregan's Bow) and fully-stocked quiver hung across his back.

His brown eyes were quick and more than a little shifty, looking around as if he was expecting danger to come from every corner, and he looked rather uncomfortable and out of place amongst so many soldiers. "Besides, ain't people supposed to like us Wardens? Vanquishers of the Blight and knights in shining armour and all that?"

"Maybe not to that extent, Ser…"

"Daveth, just Daveth. And you're definitely not what I thought you'd be."

"Alim Surana. And what were you thinking I'd be?"

"I don't know" Daveth said, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "I was kinda hoping for someone blonde, buxom and near-sighted-" Alim shook his head and suppressed a laugh_ 'he reminds me of Anders'_"-though knowing my luck, you'd be some great brute of a knight, all scarred up and with a penchant for violence. I wasn't expecting an elf though, and definitely not one who's better with women than I am.

"Still, good to meet you. It's about time you came along; I was starting to think they'd cooked this ritual up for our benefit."

"The Joining?" asked Alim, genuinely curious. The human might be something of a scoundrel, and likely had a rather colorful past, but he had no reason to doubt him at this juncture. "What do you know about it?" came the inquiry as the two moved away from the depot and any potential eavesdroppers.

Daveth motioned him closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "See, I happened to be sneaking around camp last night, and I heard some of the Wardens talking a bit. Sounded like they were going to send us into the Wilds."

"Any idea why?"

"Not sure. Might be a test of our fighting skills, see if we can cut the mustard as Wardens," Daveth suggested. "There's plenty of dangers in that forest; cannibals, witches, barbarians and monsters, lots of stuff to pose a challenge. Hope you're up for it. I know Jory is."

"Jory?" Duncan mentioned that he was a knight, but he was curious for any details Daveth might have had on who he was to work with.

"Ser Jory, he's the other recruit. A decent fellow for a knight. Bit stiff though, probably needs a good woman," Daveth said bluntly, turning to wave over a human in his mid-thirties. "Oi, Jory? Come over 'ere, the final recruit has arrived!"

"That is a relief," the man said, giving Daveth an odious glance, resentful at being seen near the flippant rogue. Jory was a solid, heavyset man in chain mail garb, hair thinning away from his wide forehead, while his dark beard was meticulously trimmed around his chin, not a hair out of place. "How do you do? My name is Jory, knight of Redcliffe."

Jory wore the uniform of the gray wardens as well, but far more armored version. He was carrying a wing adorned helmet under his left arm, and there was an ornamental greatsword on his back. What was it with humans and their need for overly large weaponry?

"Good to meet you, Ser Jory, I'm Alim of Kinloch Hold," the elf answered politely. Experience had taught him to beware human nobility and their knights, but Jory seemed like a decent fellow. "Has Daveth told you about the Joining?"

"Indeed, though it's rather strange that they would require further tests from us. We are Wardens after all, correct?" the knight posed.

"That said, I was not aware that elves could even become Wardens."

"Oh, you've done it now, mate!" Daveth cackled.

"Maybe they need to start letting in less humans." Alim rebutted, instantly defensive.

"I meant no offense," Jory stammered. "It's just that all of the current Wardens here seem to be human. Not that I've had much time to meet with them; Duncan has insisted that we recruits stay up here in the King's Camp." It was plain as a pike that Jory resented being treated as a fresh recruit, and Alim idly wondered how the pair had been recruited.

"I just can't wait to prove myself on the field" he said, eager to get underway and prove himself worthy of the standard he bore.

"Well, I'm sure that we'll be able to defeat anything we come across," Alim declared. He supposed only time would tell if either of them proved reliable in combat. "By any chance, have either of you met a Warden named Alistair?"

"Yeah, he was around here just a little while ago. Had to deliver a message to the mages," Daveth explained, shuddering visibly. "Me, I wouldn't go near those spooky types for all the gold in Denerim, but apparently he used to be a templar, so them mages shouldn't worry him."

A templar, wonderful. "Spooky types huh?" he said, and just to mess with them he held up his left hand and summoned an ethereal sword. He smirked when they backed away in surprise, he dispelled it and said "though to be fair I am mage and templar both."

"Ah, so you are a knight enchanter then?" Jory said, "knight enchanter? Not sure I've ever heard of such a thing." Daveth said to him in response.

"Knight Enchanters are mages who have been given special dispensation from the Chantry to serve in battle. This is because they have taken steps to become templars themselves, and therefore have a resistance to the creatures of the fade that most mages lack.

"Though the willpower and control necessary to even be considered for the position are nothing short of legendary. Never thought I would actually meet one, let alone one so young." Jory explained, and he could only blush in embarrassment at the praise.

"Well look at this, the learned knight preaching to the ignorant little thief. Where have I heard that before" Daveth replied sarcastically, and Alim intervened to prevent the impending argument "thanks, I appreciate it. I think Duncan's expecting us to join him shortly, we might be getting to the Joining soon."

"Hope so, the waiting's killing me," said Daveth. "Nice to meet you, mate. If those mages turn you into a toad, try not to come near me, okay? Can't stand the things." Allim sighed, he knew Daveth meant well, but...

"Best of luck to you as well," offered Jory, frowning as a new figure approached their gathering. "Perhaps these are our orders now."

Panting, the elven messenger skidded to a halt before the Warden recruits, leather satchel flapping at his side. "Begging your pardon, Wardens, but I-" he wheezed, doubling over. "I have-"

"Bit weedy looking, isn't he?" remarked Daveth. "Hope you're a bit tougher than that, Alim."

Alim ignored the human's jibes, handing the messenger his water skin. "Stand easy, messenger. What's your name?"

"It's—it's Pick, ser," the elf answered, drinking deeply.

"My name is Alim, Pick, and I'm no ser. Rest for a moment; you're no good to anyone if you've collapsed from exhaustion. Your message can wait for a few moments."

"Oh, I only wish," Pick blurted, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Teryn Loghain wants to see you, and he's not a man to keep waiting."

"An audience with the Teryn!" gushed Jory, visibly elated. "What a great honor! We should go to his tent right away."

"I'm sorry, ser Warden," the messenger spoke cautiously, "but I was told that the summons was for the elven Warden alone. He wants to see you, Alim."

_'Well, I did hope for a chance to meet him, didn't I?'_ Alim told himself, gently refusing Pick's attempts to return his water skin. "Keep it, Pick, I have another. Daveth, Ser Jory, I'll see you back at Duncan's tent," he said, idly glancing to make sure his new armour was presentable enough. He felt the first nervous stirrings rising in his chest, and tried to force them down. _'You've met the King, fought ghouls and slew a horde of giant spiders and a rage demon. Nothing should unsettle you now.'_

As Alim walked over to the old tower housing the tents of Loghain and the King, he immediately noticed how quiet it was in comparison to the rest of the camp, the milling and chatting soldiers absent, replaced with stoic guards, hands at their weapons at all times. These were the elite knights of Maric's Shield, the King's personal bodyguards, and the elf felt more than one pair of suspicious eyes upon him as he approached Loghain's billet.

Standing before the green-and-grey tent was one of the most formidable women Alim had ever seen; tall, strong and clad in knightly garb bearing the wyvern of Gwaren. An absolutely monstrous greatsword was slung at her back, and everything about her demeanor proclaimed that she knew how to use it effectively. Her dark brown hair had been drawn into a short ponytail, while on another woman, her high cheekbones and wide lips would have been a sign of great beauty, but she was too cold and stern to be truly beautiful. She reminded him of Hawke in a way, but whereas Hawke was a kind and even chivalrous and diplomatic person, hers was a soul of iron; unbending and uncompromising.

He made sure to pace himself around her. He had always been attracted to strong and willful women, but he had the feeling that she would not respond kindly to any advances.

Not that he would have tried with this one, infatuated with Hawke and sore over ending things with Leorah as he was.

"You approach the tent of Teryn Loghain, elf. State your business," the knight demanded, brown eyes boring holes right through him.

"I received a message that Teryn Loghain wished to see me, Ser…"

"Cauthrien of Gwaren, champion and bodyguard to Teryn Loghain," she declared bluntly. "You will watch your tone when speaking to him. He is not a man to be disrespected, and neither am I."

Before Alim had a chance to unleash a choice retort at her choice of words, the rustling of papers within the tent and a gruff male voice stopped him cold. "That will do, Cauthrien."

Teryn Loghain Mac Tir stepped out into the light.

_'Hard'_ was the first word to came to mind when looking upon the teryn; hard, stern, and unyielding, much like his broadsword and large shield.

Loghain had to be at least fifty, but age had not weakened him in body, mind or spirit, and Alim doubted if he would ever allow it to do so. From beneath great furrowed brows, dark eyes examined the Warden, looking past the crooked nose, having been broken one too many times, marked with the scars of battles and sieges aplenty, while his face was pale and drawn tight, clearly unaccustomed to smiles and laughter.

He was a hefty, solid man, bulked up further by the polished silverite plate armour he wore, a trophy of his triumph over the Orlesians at the Battle of River Dane. Everything about him suggested intense dedication and focus; he was the sort of man with no patience for fools, and would not accept weakness in himself or others, a man whose respect would only be earned, never given. He was a soldier's solder and a patriot, forged on the anvil of war, best friend of the late King Maric and the Hero of River Dane, and certainly not a man to be crossed.

"So, you are the elven Warden I've heard so much about. What is your name, ser?"

"Alim Surana, my lord, from Kinloch Hold at Lake Calenhad and formerly of Lothering," answered the elf, nodding in respect. "I was told that you wished to see me."

"I did. You are curious as to why?" Loghain asked, getting a muttered affirmation. "It is because at the end of the day, armies are ultimately comprised of soldiers. Your Order has been given a place of great honour in this host, and the patronage of the King despite your small numbers, and I intend on making sure that respect is justified.

"Cailin's fascination with the Wardens goes beyond the ordinary, so a sober second opinion of you and your fellows is needed." The Teryn frowned, eyes narrowing. Alim nodded, what the teryn was saying made a great deal of sense to him, but he seemed a bit... off. "I cannot help but feel you are familiar ser, though I doubt we have met."

"We have not my lord, but my grandfather would have been known to you," explained Alim. "His name was Elrohir Trialmont, he fought alongside you as part of the Night Elves during the Rebellion."

Loghain gave the barest flicker of a smile. "That is a name I have not heard in quite some time. A good man, your grandfather, my first lieutenant. I've never seen his equal with a bow before or since. You come from a worthy legacy, Alim Surana. Make sure you live up to it."

After the war was over, Elrohir Trialmont was given the position as Bann of Lothering, he eventually married Andriel Surana and had two children, Serade Trialmont and Elrond Surana.

"Of course, my lord. And you can rest assure that all of the Grey Wardens will work to honour the King's trust." Alim told him with all the conviction he had.

"Will you now?" asked the teryn, eyebrow raised. Duncan had mentioned there were some in the army who held the Wardens in scorn, still bitter about the end to their, in the eyes of some, well deserved exile, but Alim had hoped that Loghain wasn't one of them. It was a vain hope apparently; Loghain clearly didn't trust them. "Are you aware that his father brought your Order back to Ferelden?"

"I am, my lord." He read at least ten books on the subject, and detailed biographies on each and every gray warden brought back through the Ferelden borders.

"Maric respected the Grey Wardens, and they have an honored place in the hearts of our people. But Maric would have understood that battles are won by strategy and discipline, not legends, particularly those so few in number. It's not an argument I'll repeat here." He said, and Alim looked to the ground broodily, swearing to himself that he would do everything in his power to prove his trustworthiness.

"I suppose you'll riding off into the thick of the fighting with your fellow then, will you?"

"I am a Grey Warden, my lord," Alim declared, thankful for Hawke's prior consul. "For Ferelden's sake, I will go where I am needed, and do what must be done."

"Fair enough," said Loghain, turning back to his tent. "Now, I must return to my strategies for the battle tonight. You will give your commander my compliments." Pulling the canvas flaps open, the teryn moved to enter but paused for a moment. "Are you a religious man, Alim of the Grey?"

"I believe in the existence of the Maker and Andraste if that's what you mean ser, but I'm not particularly religious per say, before I went to the tower I believed, but..." he said, looking down broodily again.

"Yes, I heard about that incident." Alim had to wonder which incident he meant, the elven child who caused a house fire, an earthquake, a blizzard, geyser, a windstowm and a tornado of steel and killed his family or about the brigand rapists who caused it in the first place. "Cauthrien, with me," said Loghain, ducking into the tent. Sniffing in disdain at the elf, Cauthrien followed.

"Well, that was interesting," Alim muttered under his breath. Grandfather Elrohir had always spoken of Loghain's stubborn nature, but to experience it firsthand was something else.

Loghain might not respect the Wardens now, but for Alim, that was just another challenge.

* * *

><p>"Alim?" the mage asked "it appears you are a gray warden now, you have my congratulations but alas I am far too busy at the moment to entertain pleasantries."<p>

She was an elder human, perhaps in her fifties or early sixties, and her every mannerism and words seemed very deliberate, the by-product of a life of intense discipline and dedication. Alim smirked, remembering all the lectures given to him by the motherly woman. She was tough, fair, and she did not suffer fools lightly. "Forgive me, senior enchanter Whynne," the elf said respectfully to the elder wearing the green robes of a healer rather than her normal pink robes, "but I was wondering if you could help me find someone."

"Yes, you must be looking for the other recruits. Good luck to you Alim, good luck to us all, in fact. To defeat the darkspawn, we must all work together, though it is not a notion everyone seems able to grasp."

"Yes, I figured as such" Alim reiterated, experiencing a sudden flare of worry. "Have you and the other mages been treated poorly by the rest of the army?"

"Not as much as you might think," Wynne assured him. "For the most part, I find they are simply relieved to have our aid. Mages are feared, often with good reason, but that fear should not preclude us from helping others, and if it helps to forge a positive impression of mages then so much the better."

"Have you fought the darkspawn yourself yet, Senior Enchanter?" Alim asked, "stragglers, yes, but not the vast horde the scouts speak of. " Wynne pursed her lips, curious. "Tell me, what you know of the connection between darkspawn and the Fade?"

"The Fade? I don't remember having encountered anything like the darkspawn there."

"You are correct. They do not live there, as it were. It is a place home to many spirits, some benevolent, but many less so. And in the centre of it lies the Black City, once the Maker's home-"

"Until the magisters of Tevinter breached its gates and corrupted it," Alim finished, thinking back to the lectures of the Chantry. "It was the First Violation, the act that brought the darkspawn into being in the first place."

"My, it is refreshing to that our teaching's have stuck," said Wynne, pleasantly surprised. "Too many assume that scholarly knowledge somehow unmans them."

"Well, I've always found it better to walk into a situation with eyes open" the elf reasoned, before posing the question that everyone pondered eventually. "Is the Chantry right, Wynne? Is that how the darkspawn were created?"

Believer or no, it seemed to him that the corrupted magister story was as good a theory as any, and with all of the Imperium's other transgressions against nature it was not all that far-fetched. Plus, he had seen the Black City with his own eyes upon visiting the fade for the first time.

"I cannot say that for certain young man," the mage confessed. "It may simply be allegory, a reminder that our actions have consequences. Without any reasonable alternatives, it is a good enough explanation for now, I suppose. But I doubt that Duncan wanted you to spend all your time listening to my lectures; you should prepare yourself for the battle ahead."

"Anything I can do to help you on that front?" asked Alim. "I'm supposed to find another Warden named Alistair, but I'm sure Duncan won't mind it if I took a few moments to assist the mages."

"Well said," Wynne remarked, drawing a long glass phial from a nearby pack. "Bring this to the kennelmaster; he and the hounds under his care are nearby. You won't need to return once that is done, just deliver it and he'll know what to do. As for Alistair, try the western ramparts. The message he was meant to deliver is for Senior Enchanter Ivan who has been preparing wards in that area for the coming battle."

"Thank you, Wynne. I'll deliver this right away," the elf said, taking his leave, a spring in his step. He had a thousand more questions to ask, but Whynne was right; he had work to do. Perhaps everything would turn out alright after all…

* * *

><p>"This isn't good," mused the kennel master, examining the warhounds with an experienced eye. "I'd hate to waste such a promising member of the breed. Are you sure that this is all she had?"<p>

"It was all she gave me," grunted Alim, staring piteously at the beasts. His good mood had lasted as long as it took to reach the kennels, quickly dissipating at the sight of so many injured dogs, many of them stricken with festering sores and lesions. The kennel master had explained that they had been infected with the darkspawn taint, and that Wynne's solution was designed to give them a fighting chance.

Briefly, the image of the rabid ghouls ambushing them on the journey flashed before Alim's eyes, and he gave an unconscious shudder at the thought. The tales of past Blights had not truly conveyed the horror of the taint, and he'd hate to think of how many people were dying as a result of it seeping into their systems... as well as what he might himself become if left untreated for much longer, his skin was already a few shades paler. Judging from the screams of agony sounding from the infirmary, far too many.

"I assume it isn't enough?"

"Well, I'll try to make it stretch, but at the rate the dogs are getting infected, there's only so much we can do. Take a look at this fellow here," he explained, gesturing towards the mabari warhound isolated in a separate pen, brown fur marred with boils and swelling. "Prime example of a mabari here, probably cost a fortune to breed. His owner was a knight from Highever who died in the last battle, and the poor fellow swallowed darkspawn blood. One of the most valuable and loyal dogs in the world, and here he is, just wastin' away helplessly. Bloody darkspawn," the human spat to the side in disgust. "It just ain't right Warden, it just ain't right."

"Forgive my ignorance, but what makes these dogs so special?" Alim asked, having not read any books about mabari before, and was sorely lacking in knowledge of them. The dog was massive, a great deal larger than the others, thickly muscled and with a set of jaws that could crush a man's skull like a chicken egg, yet it whimpered in pain like a pup.

He felt great tug at his heartstrings at the sight. He always had a fondness for animals, but was more partial to cats like the rat-catcher at the tower.

"Mabari warhounds? Well, centuries ago, a magister bred them to be intelligent; they can understand and carry out complex orders, they can interpret our language, that sort of thing. Some people say these dogs are smart enough to talk and wise enough not to. And they're very strong; we use them in battle to rip knights from the saddle and break open enemy pike-squares and shieldwalls. Only downside, depending on who you ask, is that they imprint on their owner.

"If he or she dies, then it's difficult to get them to accept a new master."

"Poor dogs," the elf said, staring at the sick hound with a mixture of horror and pity. The animal gave a miserable whine from behind its muzzle. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Well, come to think of it, might you be heading into the Wilds anytime soon?"

Increasingly grateful that Daveth had chosen to confide in him, Alim gave a noncommittal grunt. "It all depends on where the other Wardens decide to send me. Why do you ask?"

"There's a flower out there in the Wilds that could help improve the dog's chances. It's very distinctive, all-white with a blood-red centre, usually grows in ground pools around dead wood at this time of year," the kennel master explained. "Bring me some of those, and I might able to stabilize their condition."

"A cure for the Blight?" Alim asked incredulously.

"It's a treatment, not a full-fledged cure. I've found that an ointment made from the flowers can help them get better, though it's hit and miss. Something like the darkspawn taint, all I can do is offer what aid I can and hope for the best. Though if they do survive the initial taint, they grow immune to it, making them valued companions for the wardens."

"Then I'll definitely keep an eye out for them," promised Alim. Without hesitation, the elf knelt down before the sick mabari, meeting its eye through the bars of the pen. "Don't you worry, boy. You'll be back to normal again in no time. I promise."

Perhaps mabari were truly as intelligent as the kennel master claimed, for the dog stretched out its front legs and almost…bowed its head in acknowledgement. "I promise," Alim repeated, giving a quick bow himself, then left, his course set.

* * *

><p>Alistair of the Grey Wardens sighed in frustration at the mage continued to harangue him. It certainly wasn't his fault that the Revered Mother had decided to make him a messenger, nor could he change his past to make it more palatable to the mage, who considered his mere existence an insult, let alone the message he had to deliver. "I simply came to deliver a message from the Revered Mother, ser mage, she desires your presence."<p>

"What Her Reverence desires is of no concern to me, boy," the mage shot back. "I am helping the Grey Wardens, by the king's orders, I might add!"

Biting back his irritation, Alistair tried to maintain a friendly tone. "Should I have asked her to write a note?" he asked, almost flippantly. Instantly, he could hear Duncan chiding him in the back of his mind, reminding him of the importance of keeping good relations with the rest of Ferelden, and working together with all these diverse factions.

_'Too late now, I suppose.'_

The mage gasped in dismay at this disrespect, pride obviously stung. "Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!"

"So I was harassing you by delivering a message?" the young human replied snarkily. '_Oh, Maker's breath, I've done it now. I really should have just stayed in bed this morning. "Sorry, Duncan, but I'm feeling sick, I think I might have the Blight. Grey Wardens aren't affected by the Blight, you say? Well, make it yellow fever then."'_

"Your glibness does you no credit."

"And here I thought we were getting along so well!" Alistair crowed. "I was planning on naming one of my children after you. The grumpy one." '_How very mature, Alistair. Why Duncan didn't want you joining the other Wardens in battle is entirely beyond me. You really do need to learn when to be quiet.'_

A snigger, barely stifled, cut into the argument. Out of the corner of his eye, Alistair saw an elf about his age, possessing a staff, a longsword and Warden tabard, smirking despite himself. _'__Oh, wonderful, a recruit and another mage too. This is hardly the best first impression I've ever made. It could be worse, I suppose. I could be standing around without any pants on'_, Alistair mused, resisting the urge to double-check. If the twenty-five years of his life had taught him anything, it was that he had exactly that kind of ill luck…

"Enough!" the mage barked, eager to have Alistair out of his sight. "I'll speak to the woman if I must. Get out of my way, fool!" he snapped at Alim as he barreled past. Shaking his head at the display, the elf walked forward to meet the Grey Warden Alistair, the tapping of his staff against the ground accompanying his footsteps in an almost mystical way that set people on edge... or relaxed them, depending on who the person was.

When Duncan sent him to find the Warden, Alim assumed that the man in question was some kind of drillmaster, the sort of fellow to enforce discipline upon his subordinates with curses and fists. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

Alistair was a young man about his age, maybe a bit older, closer to a new recruit like himself than a veteran soldier despite already being a warden. His blonde hair had been cut short in an efficient military style, while faint stubble grew on the chin of his warm, smiling face. The young human wore his gray warden armour comfortably, and wore a steel longsword at his side and a large kite shield over his back, both bearing the gray warden standard proudly.

"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together," Alistair said with a cheeky smirk, moving to greet the elf. "Am I right?"

"I know what you mean," Alim remarked dryly, remembering his conversations with Loghain and the other soldiers and non-combatants, people from all different walks of life who might never have met otherwise.

"Its like a party! We could all stand in a circle and hold hands, maybe sing some jolly campfire tunes! That would certainly give the darkspawn something to think about."

"Might work. I have a wonderful singing voice," Alim preened, "I'll probably charm them back underground, maybe make the archdemon my pet."

The human gave a short, relieved laugh. "Ha-ha! Finally, someone agrees with my plans, dumb as they are. I don't suppose you happen to be another mage."

Daveth's description of Alistair rang out in his mind, and Alim steeled himself for some vulgar anti-mage bigotry. "Would that be a problem?"

"Hardly, no. I just always like to know what the odds are of being turned into a toad at given moment. I'm strange like that. You must be the new recruit Duncan had found in the tower… Alim, right?" he asked, snapping his fingers as the name came to him. "I apologize; I should have recognized you right away from the description he gave me."

"No harm done. You must be Alistair then."

"Yes, that's me," the young human admitted sheepishly. "As the junior member of our Order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining. Afraid you didn't catch me at my best there, what with the mage and all; wasn't exactly a good first impression."

"I was wondering about that actually. What was the problem?"

"With the mage? Well, the Circle is here at the King's request, and the Chantry doesn't like that one bit. Which puts me in an awkward position; I was once a templar, you see."

"Daveth had mentioned that, but I thought templars joined for life?" questioned Alim.

"Well, technically, I wasn't actually a templar," Alistair elaborated. "I had gone through all the training, but Duncan recruited me into the Wardens before I took my final vows. It's just as well, really. I'm not exactly the Chantry type; they want obedient and unquestioning soldiers to serve in the templars, and I'm… , I think I could do a lot more good as a Grey Warden rather than sitting in a temple somewhere. Here, I have a chance to really make a difference, to make the world a better place."

"That's a very noble sentiment Alistair," Alim said, looking at the human with new found respect. "I know where you're coming from; I've been given an opportunity the likes of which few tower folk see, and I don't plan on wasting it, especially when I can use my powers to help others."

"Sounds like we'll get along just fine," stated Alistair, feeling much more assured. "Anyways, I'm sure the Revered Mother meant it as an insult, sending me to the mages as a messenger, and he picked right up on that.

"I never would have agreed to help her, but Duncan says that we're all to work together against the darkspawn. Guess he didn't give them the same speech. Anyways, if you're here now, then Duncan's probably ready to get things started. We should head back."

"Agreed," said Alim, falling in step with the other warden as the two made for Duncan's billet. It was some distance from the western ramparts, so the elf took the time to quiz his new companion. "Alistair, could you tell me more about this Joining ritual? Duncan told me a great deal about the darkspawn and the Wardens on the journey here, but for some reason, he never mentioned this."

He clenched his hand nervously.

"Well, I can't tell you much. I'm sorry, but it's one of the bigger secrets of the Order."

"One of?"

"I'm sorry," Alistair repeated, deliberately avoiding his gaze. "It's secret for a reason and rather dangerous, but that's all I'm allowed to tell you. I'm sure you'll get through it just fine. Duncan wouldn't have recruited you if he didn't think you couldn't handle it, or the life of a Warden."

The elf sighed, disappointed. He had wanted to know a bit more about his cure, but Alistair would not be moved. It seemed he was disciplined after all, despite his words. He'd just have to keep his wits and courage about him, whatever the challenge. "Have you known Duncan long then?"

"Somewhat. I met him face-to-face when he recruited me about six months ago, but I had heard of him before that. He was one of the first Grey Wardens brought into Ferelden after King Maric rescinded the Order's exile and he's been leading us ever since. He's a good man; tough but fair, and I owe him a lot."

"How so?"

"Duncan… he was the first person who actually cared about what I wanted. I had been given to the Chantry at a young age, probably because my guardians couldn't think of anywhere else to put me. He actually stopped and asked what I wanted out of life, and a few hours after I gave him my answer, he gave me my tabard," Alistair explained, looking down on the blue and grey griffon livery with pride.

"Sounds like you made a good impression on him. He doesn't seem to be the sort to recruit simply out of sentiment."

"Yes I think you're right, or at least, I hope you are. Duncan did say that my training for fighting mages would double against fighting darkspawn, especially the emissaries. So far, I haven't any reason to doubt him." The human's brown eyes swung back to him, questioningly. "He's a good man and makes do with what he has, and that includes me I guess."

"That was my impression as well," Alim added. "He asks a lot, but he's nothing he wouldn't expect of himself. You said you were given to the Chantry?"

"Yes, that's how many people join the templars actually. Orphans, cast-offs, younger sons of the nobility who have little hope of inheritance. The Chantry likes to recruit young you see, and train people in seclusion so they're more willing to accept orders. It wasn't what I would have chosen, but I came to appreciate the training itself after a while. Besides, my guardians weren't willing to have me back in any event."

"What happened to your parents then, if I may ask?" Alim gently inquired.

"My mother was a serving girl at Redcliffe Castle; she died giving birth to me. As for my father… well, he's dead, let's put it at that."

The elf winced at the abrupt response. "My apologies."

"Don't worry; it's not your fault. And on the subject of our pasts, the Wardens have an unofficial rule: your past is your own, and has no bearing on your service with us. A lot of people come to the Wardens running from something, or discarding old loyalties; some even consider their old lives dead once they finish the Joining. If you don't want to discuss it, you don't have to." Alistair gave a small shrug as if it was no concern of his.

"I appreciate that, thank you," replied Alim, genuinely grateful. The nightmares from his past were better left dead and buried, true he had discussed one of them with Duncan, but he'd really rather leave his past behind. He was what he chose of make of himself, and the past had no bearing on the here and now.

He had let his past cloud his judgement despite himself; the elf had expected a fanatical mage-hater and discovered a very earnest and generous fellow instead. It was a lesson in open-mindedness that he vowed to take to heart.

A few minutes' walk brought the two to Duncan's personal camp, the Warden-Commander standing next to a roaring bonfire along with Jory and Daveth. "Ah, you found Alistair, did you?" Duncan remarked dryly. "Then we can begin at once, assuming of course, you're finished riling up mages, Alistair."

"What can I say?" Alistair jested, trying not to wilt under Duncan's stern gaze. "The Revered Mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army."

A dark eyebrow rose questioningly. "She forced you to sass the mage, did she?" came the disbelieving inquiry. "You know as well as I that we cannot afford to antagonize anyone, not at this critical stage."

"Of course, Duncan, I apologize," Alistair said dutifully, having heard this refrain before.

"Good. Now then, the four of you will be descending into the Korcari Wilds to perform two tasks," Duncan explained, drawing forth three valuable-looking glass vials from a pouch at his belt and passing them to the recruits. "First, you are to fill each of these vials with darkspawn blood, one for each recruit."

Taking the vial gently so as not to damage it, Alim immediately spotted the glimmer of magical runes etched into the glass-work and the brass cap, cold to his touch. "What is the blood for? Some sort of battle trophy?"

"For the Joining itself," Duncan answered. "I'll explain more once you've returned. Secondly, there was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain and garrison such a remote holding. It has come to our attention that several scrolls were left behind, magically sealed to protect them from the elements and thieves. Alistair, I want you and the recruits to retrieve them if you can."

"A bunch of old scrolls?" scoffed Daveth. "Anything important?"

"Why, interested in pawning them off?" Jory demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Just asking a question," the rogue shot back. "Bound to be plenty of darkspawn in the Wilds, and other dangers too. Just want to make sure some ratty old parchment is worth us potentially getting killed."

"They are old treaties, as a matter of fact, dating back to the Second Blight," explained Duncan patiently. "They contain promises of support to the Grey Wardens, binding oaths of troops and support in the event of a Blight. With so many having forgotten the Order's importance and the threat of the darkspawn, it would be good to have something to remind them with."

"If they're so valuable, then I don't understand why they were abandoned Duncan," said Alim. "Surely such documents would be a prize worth keeping?"

"It was assumed that, after the outpost was abandoned, they would be retrieved at a later date. But it seems a great many assumptions have not come true" Duncan answered. "Still, the effort must be made. I do not doubt the King's convictions or the effectiveness of his troops, but no Blight has been beaten with little cost, and having additional allies we can call upon will prove valuable in the days to come. Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly and safely."

"We will," came the response.

"Then may the Maker watch over you all," Duncan intoned with all solemnity. "I will be waiting here when you return."

So dismissed, Alistair and the recruits marched towards the wooden gate blocking the path that led into the Wilds. "I'll take the lead once we get down there, and keep watch for darkspawn, however I will not be fighting, this is you're test, not mine." declared Alistair, strapping the heavy shield onto his left forearm to protect himself from darkspawn archers.

"This archive, what does it look like?" asked Alim.

"It's an old Tevinter ruin from the height of the Imperium," explained Alistair, frowning in disgust at the thought of the magisters. A sentiment that Alim fervently agreed with. "Before Andraste's time, they had built an outpost in the Wilds as a staging ground for slave raids, but when they saw what they were up against, abandoned it and established Ostagar. I think the Order took possession of it just after the First Blight.

"I should be able to find it, no problem. We'll have to be quick, though. If the King's scouts are right, then the horde will be massing for another assault in at least two days, and we don't want to be caught in the path of any scouting parties."

"So we get in, get the blood and the scrolls, and get out. Sounds like a simple enough task" said Alim.

"Of course! We are all Wardens, are we not?" boasted Jory "what foe could possibly stand against us?"

_'What foe indeed?'_ wondered Alim, setting his mind for the task at hand. Four... three men and a darkspawn detector against any number of darkspawn, and whatever native dangers lurked within the Wilds, all prepared to destroy them given the slightest opportunity.

_'Come what may, I will not be found wanting.'_

* * *

><p>AN: For the record, I am aware that in Mark of the Assassin, Hawke mentions never having met the Warden, but to be honest it was simply too good of an opportunity to pass up simply because of one throw-away line. I decided to stick with the default female appearance for Hawke, since in my opinion her default appearance is far more beautiful than anything I have created with the customization tools, and decided to stick with the standard name simply because it calls to mind that appearance.

I do have some plans for a DA2 novelization in the future, though it would definitely diverge from the game at several points. Again, that's just something for the future; right now, Alim has a Blight to contend with!

As for Hawke herself, she is going to have a diplomatic/helpful but flirty personality with the occasional joking or sarcastic comment. The player can choose between mage, warrior, and rogue classes, so I chose to make her a mage with my favorite styles from both warrior and rogue. As for the weaponry and armor, I chose DLC equipment that are not found at any point in the DAII story line and that she can logically start off with, and although the bow is bought in DAII, it is bought in Lerene's Ferelden Imports so it is a Ferelden bow and therefor she could have started out with it if not for game mechanics which demanded that she start out with the weakest weapon in the game.

There is going to be a brief Alim/Hawke pairing for those wondering, but she leaves for Kirkwall after Ostagar as you all know. But her official pairing for the sequel (and my favorite pairing for a mage Hawke) is Fenris.

Much of this story has been inspired by stories like The Grey Path by The Pheonix King (some of you will no doubt think this chapter is a copy and paste copy of that story, but I assure you that I have written this from scratch with my own words), Stormbreaker by dominicgrim, and Flames of the Dragon Mage by LoneWolf218. All three are excellent stories though, give them a read if you have the time.

Hope you've all been enjoying the story thus far, and any and all comments and suggestions are encouraged and appreciated.


	7. The Wilds, The Witches and The Joining

**Arcane Warrior**

**Chapter 6: The Wilds, the Witches and the Joining**

* * *

><p>Lumbering down the slick moss covered stone steps away from the encampment, the four Wardens entered the foreboding wilderness of the Korcari Wilds.<p>

The place was filled to the brim with tall, wild, overgrown trees, both still standing in their deeply-rooted positions and those that had fallen and were now half sunken into the marsh. Those trees still standing were cracked and bent, showing signs of sickness and decay. If they were decaying before, then it was only accelerated now that the blight was causing the land to wither and die. A cold mist or fog embraced them like long-lost lovers, with various mosses and fungi marring the rain-slick bark.

Insects, large and small, zoomed to and fro, but for whatever reason decided to give the four of them a wide berth. Murky ponds and lakes, overgrown grass and dead flowers rising from the tainted water. No birds sang in the trees, and no beasts stalked through the festering undergrowth of leaf mold and dead plants to hunt. Only the distant howling of wolves suggested that the Wilds were even inhabited at all; patient, merciless and eager for the unwary to fall into its clutches.

It was a terribly miserable place, the Korcari Wilds, devoid of all warmth or cheer, and a part of him wished he was back at the King's Camp with a hot meal and a roaring fire to chase away the damp and cold.

He'd even prefer a haunted graveyard with terror, fear and despair demons prowling the unnatural mist.

So, naturally while in the alien land populated by any number of potential horrors and with only three humans at his side, Alim, the frolicky elf that he was, took the time to pick some flowers. "You'll catch your death of cold doing that," Jory chided the elf swiftly plucking a handful of the white flowers the kennel master required.

"It's for a sick mabari," answered the elf, folding the blossoms into one of the leather pouches on his belt. "Besides, maybe it works on people as well? If the darkspawn taint is anything close to as virulent as I've seen-" _'and felt'_ was the thought that was left unsaid "-we might need some antidotes for ourselves soon."

"Don't worry about it," Alistair stated, drawing a few incredulous stares. "The Order has developed ways to make people resistant to the taint. Once the Joining is completed, we'll be able to keep you from getting sick."

"Really?" asked Alim, clenching his left hand around the hilt of his sword nervously. "Then why isn't this something the entire army has access to?"

"A lot of the ingredients are a bit... hard to come by," explained the former templar, "and it's generally considered to be impractical to produce it en masse. You should ask Duncan, I'm not that much of an expert."

It had not been the first time that Alistair had shrugged off a question with a declaration that answers would come after the Joining, and Alim was quickly getting tired of that response. He didn't blame the former templar; Alistair was a man of duty, bound to obey orders, but the fact that the Wardens kept secrets from their own aspirants was troubling.

Surely being better informed and prepared would make them better Wardens? Besides, it wasn't like hearing any of the more frightening information about the gray wardens would make him turn tail. After witnessing so much and being tainted himself, he was more determined than he had ever been about anything to see this blight end, whether by his own hand or not.

"Let's just get this done," Daveth suggested, shortbow drawn and strung, arrow nocked and ready. "The Wilds ain't exactly a healthy environment, you know."

"Does that mean that you've been here before then?" asked Alim.

"Grew up in a village just a few miles north of here, a little blot you wouldn't even find on a map. My pa took me to the Wilds from time to time, taught me how to hunt, but I always hated it. As soon as I could outrun him, I was off to Denerim. Didn't really like the place much, but there were more pockets to pick than anywhere else, and I was good enough to get by."

"So you're a thief then?" Jory asked, disgusted to be in the presence of a confessed criminal. "What exactly made Duncan think you're fit to join this noble Order?"

"Well, you'll have to ask him that, ser knight. But yeah, I cut purses, burglarized merchants, the usual stuff. Didn't kill on the job; that's just unprofessional, but I had fights aplenty, you bet your arses on are a bunch of thieves' guilds in Denerim, all of them pretty cutthroat, and every one of them wants the whole damn pie. Wouldn't have lasted long if I couldn't fight."

"If you don't mind me asking-" the elf inquired, stepping out of the chilling pool and pulling up the cowl of his shawl to shadow his face, pale from the sickness, "-how did Duncan recruit you?"

"He actually caught me nicking his purse in the market," Daveth explained ruefully. "He's pretty fast for an old bugger, but the guards caught me first. They wanted to string me up right then and there, but Duncan invoked the Right of Conscription before they could even finish tying the noose. Not exactly sure why he'd want someone like me; but for what it's worth, I'm quick with a blade, a decent bowman and a good tracker as well."

"Those skills would come be useful against the darkspawn, no doubt," stated Alim. They were back on the march now, the softer parts of the ground squelching beneath their feet as they ventured deeper and deeper into the swamp.

"I thought I wasn't Warden material when Duncan conscripted me either, I just hope I get the chance to prove myself wrong. I have to say, it isn't looking too bad so far.

"What about you, Jory? Were you a conscript?"

"Me? Hardly!" Jory boasted, disdaining the notion of having ad to be rescued from something, making him the luckiest of the four of them. "Duncan found me in Highever. The local Bann had hosted a tournament in his honour, and I won the grand melee.

"It is a great honour to serve in the Wardens, and I know that I shall return to my Helena with glory."

So he indeed was the luckiest of them, his past free of burdens or nightmares. Alim didn't know whether to begrudge him of that or raise him on a pedestal. But then again his charmed life might mean that the knight did not have the mindset of a warden. He had the skill-set of one true, but he did not have any scars to to temper himself to the world.

But who was he to judge, he had spent the entirety of his life except for seven years and a few weeks inside a tower in the middle of a lake.

"And here I thought you hadn't had a woman before!" Daveth laughed. "Always nice having a young filly back home."

Jory's visage became stony. "Helena is my wife, ser, and I will not hear her disrespected by any. And she bears my child; all the more reason to defend her honour."

"My congratulations to you ser" interjected Alim with a wide smile before Daveth could contribute another crude inference. "New life is always something to be celebrated, and we must seize moments of levity in these troubled times. Have you two been married long Jory?"

"No, only a few months. It pains me to leave her, but…"

"Ferelden calls ser knight, I understand" the elf murmured in sympathy, recognizing his own homesickness and longing for Leorah in those words. His brief interaction with Marian was mending the rift in his heart that that parting had left. "There's no shame in that."

"And what of you ser elf?" the knight asked. "Do you have someone special waiting for you?"

Leorah's face flashed before his eyes for a moment unbidden, but was shortly replaced by Hawke's strangely enough, he had only known her for a few hours and it would not due to get so attached so soon. Alim mentally shoved the images down to the recesses of his mind. He was a recruit of the Wardens, and he could not think about them now.

"No, not anymore. I thought there would be, but now I'm not so sure."

"A wife would just get in the way mate," Daveth declared, slapping him on the back. "Honest Jory, you should have seen that lovely lass with the blue eyes chatting with our bold Alim here; I swear, she was just about drooling for him."

"She was hardly drooling you fiend." He gave Daveth a shove "we were just having a... a civil conversation," Alim protested. The idea of having a relationship with a human was intriguing, if a bit contrary to the beliefs he was raised with, of course these beliefs came to him in the form of aunt Serade who married a human man. In the tower he had had sexual relationships with a total of three people, all elves.

All a great deal older and far more experienced than him as well.

It was intriguing though, as opposed to the thin and willowy body type of elves, humans were taller and more robust. The mechanics of how such a thing would work was completely unknown to him. But these thoughts were all for naught.

They were Grey Wardens, Thedas' defenders against the Blight; he doubted he'd have time for a relationship, even if he desired one. Of course there were female gray wardens to consider. A relationship with a fellow warden wouldn't distract from the blight since they would be just as honor bound as he... in theory anyway.

Spending fourteen years in a secluded tower, you couldn't afford to differentiate between races or even genders, so it wasn't that he was racist or anything, just a...lack of an opportunity.

He had long since gotten over the intimacy issues his childhood had left him with.

"You can be considerate to a woman without wanting to take her to bed."

"Sure sure" Daveth remarked dismissively. "Keep that earnest charm handy, mate. If we do ever encounter any witches in this nasty place, they'll be so smitten with you that our resident templar here will be able to chop off their heads, no problem."

Jory gave a giant scoff of contempt. "You don't really believe those old wives' tales, do you?"

"What tales?" asked the elf, genuinely curious.

"Some nonsense about children-stealing witches that live in the Wilds," Jory answered, dismissive of the whole notion. "There's no way these Witches of the Wilds could last out here, Daveth. The templars would have hunted them down long ago."

"Shows what you know" Daveth snapped, deadly serious and looking more nervous than ever... a strange combination if ever there was one. "They have strange magic, more so than usual, they transform into birds and beasts to hunt any man they come across. If they catch, they spirit us way to their camp, rob us of our manly essence and then leave us for the crows to peck at!"

Alim heard a caw that sounded suspiciously like laughter, but when he looked up all he saw was a crow flying away. The first living thing he had seen in this forest.

"Then keep your pants on, and you'll be fine!" Jory shook his head in mock despair. "Perhaps the Wardens should start seeking recruits from places other than Denerim's slums if they end up being such cowards."

"Whatever comes our way we'll deal with it," Alistair reassured the group. The four descended into silence and continued walking farther into the marshland, occasionally ducking their heads to avoid low bearing trees.

The elf could feel the power in this place, the power and life held within the trees, the ground and the water. But that life was waning, sick with the very presence of the blight. It was clear to him that the darkspawn were not just monsters, they were a walking disease. Their every step poisoned the earth and and all life on it. The natural world was suffering from them being here on the surface, Alim could feel it in his tainted blood.

Alim started, coming to a halt in the muck, head cocked at an angle. "Do you hear that?" he said, covering up the true reason for his startle. For the real reason was not the groaning he could hear in the distance, it was the taint and the tremendous pain that came with it.

It was not too much for him to cope with however, but he had to prevent himself from doubling over and screaming in order to prevent alerting the others to his dilemma.

"Hear what?" Daveth asked.

"Listen!" The elf stood there, silent and still, ears twitching, straining to catch every stray sound in the eerie silence of the formerly lively Wilds. Then the noise came again, louder this time, a strangled, agonized cry. "Over there," he gestured to the right, brandishing his staff. "Sounds like someone in trouble, possibly injured."

"Then let's get over there but stay cautious," Alistair cautioned the group. "If you're right, then whatever hurt him might still be around."

Quickening their pace, the four men advanced through the swamp, weapons leveled, scrambling up a soggy hill onto a promontory of drier ground, the overgrown but dead path marked with the imprint of men's footsteps and the marks of battle.

Twice more the cry echoed from the deep mists, now loud enough for the humans to hear clearly, the anguish in the man's voice spurring them on.

Breaking through the mist at a breakneck pace, the recruits caught their first glimpse of the enemy's handiwork.

The patrol had been expecting a fight, judging by the weapons clutched firmly in their cold dead hands, clinging tightly to them even in death, but they had been overwhelmed and brought down all the same. Almost twenty men wearing the standard of Highever ripped to pieces at the hands of the darkspawn. They had not gone quietly however, Alim noticed fallen darkspawn in the ranks of the slain, their twisted bodies and crude iron weapons side by side with their would be victims on the moistened ground.

Only one survivor remained, the owner of the screams that sounded through the mist. Alim knelt to the man's side, handing his staff to Alistair, he examined the horrible gash across his chest that had ripped through tabard and chain mail before gouging flesh.

The darkspawn swords may be crude iron, but they were wickedly sharp.

"Who's that, Grey Wardens?" the soldier croaked.

"Well, he's not as half as dead as he looks," remarked Alistair.

"My scouting band was attacked by darkspawn," the man croaked, blood staining his jaw. "We tried to fight, but there were simply too many! I… I need to warn the others, there are hundreds of the monsters out here!"

"Hundreds?" Jory gasped.

"Easy," Alim reassured him and held up his hands, a soft blue glow encompassing them. The human groaned as the grievous wound stitched itself closed, Jory applied a poultice to the still fresh scar tissue and bound it with some linen bandages and doused it with a potion Alistair offered.

"Just take it easy there, soldier. That'll help keep you stay alive, but you should see a better healer than me when you get back to the camp."

"Yes, I have to get back... and warn the others."

"Go, the way back is clear" the elf said softly, trying to calm the hysterical warrior.

Groaning in pain, the human complied, limping in the direction of the camp, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Ultimately, Alim was no great healer. The best he could do was close up the wound and save the man's immediate life, but in the long run...

"Did you hear him?" Jory demanded fearfully. It was clear this first taste of the darkspawn's handiwork had shaken the knight, as he kept glancing back towards the fallen creatures as if expecting them to rise from the dead and strike from behind the moment his back was turned. "An entire patrol of seasoned men wiped out by darkspawn!"

"Calm down, Ser Jory, we'll be fine if we're careful," Alistair reassured.

"Those soldiers were careful!" snapped Jory. "I know the Couslands, and they do not bring ill-trained men into the fight! How many darkspawn can the four of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There's an entire army out there!"

"There are darkspawn about, but we're in no danger of walking right into the bulk of the horde. We're a small party as well, smaller than the King's scouting bands at any rate.

"If we move quickly and carefully, we should be able to avoid any fights we can't handle."

"How do you know that?" came the knight's petulant inquiry. "I am no coward, but this is foolish and reckless. We should turn back."

"Overcoming these dangers is part of our test, Ser Jory," Alim reminded him, not facing he rest of them, lest Alistair recognize the signs of the taint. "Listen, if Duncan is right and this truly is a Blight, then we're going to face far sterner odds then this to save Ferelden. And what about the other scouting parties? They should at least know what happened to their comrades here."

"Too right, mate," added Daveth. "I haven't gotten my boots all muddy just to back out now! But if you want to turn tail, ser knight, that's your business."

"Know this, Jory," Alistair said, each word burdened with the gravity of this newest revelation, "all Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. I promise you, no matter their number or their cunning, they won't take us by surprise. That's why I'm here."

"Another Warden talent?" inquired Alim.

"Yes, I'll be able to show you how it works once the Joining is done."

"Of course you will" he said, honestly beginning to worry about how much time he had left, for the amount of pain he was in was magnifying by the minute. He held out his hand to where he could feel Alistair's presence through the taint, he was almost certain that that Alistair could feel him too, for his staff, once he felt it in his gloved hands he retracted his hand.

"You see, ser knight? We might die, but at least we'll be warned about it first," the former thief quipped with an undisguised grin.

"That is…reassuring?" remarked Jory, anything but reassured.

"That doesn't mean I'm here to make it easy for you," Alistair stated bluntly. "Let's get a move on. We have a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time to do it in."

Now he was entirely certain that Alistair knew what was wrong with him.

_'Well, we're off to a swimming start,'_ thought Alistair as the four Wardens continued their mission. He had half-expected that under his command, all of the new recruits would die in the first five minutes, but it seemed his lackluster leadership skills weren't yet that terrible.

The former templar was a bundle of nerves at this point, he hated the responsibilities and worries that came with taking command, and he never would have agreed to escort the new recruits if Duncan had not requested it.

The fear of failure haunted him more than he would like to admit. Death wasn't nearly as scary to him as failing, he was a Grey Warden and would die eventually, but the thought of betraying Duncan's trust or screwing up somehow, compromising their mission and leading people to their deaths was where real terror lay.

Of course, he could only do so much without the recruits giving their own best efforts. Privately, Alistair was disappointed in Jory. The man was a knight, skilled in arms and experienced in battle, yet he seemed to shirk away from danger in spite of these advantages. He was no poor fighter, Duncan would never have recruited him otherwise, but his reluctance to fight darkspawn was worrying. With luck, it was just his nerves speaking, and they would settle once he had slain a few of his natural enemies.

Daveth was a mixed bag. Alistair had been raised by nobles, fairly decent ones all things was tutored further by the Templar Order, neither of which held much love or sympathy for career criminals. Still, the former thief had not shown the same trepidation as his knightly colleague, and his tracking skills might prove useful in the days to come.

That left the elf, Alim. Alistair had only a basic understanding of what life was like for the mages of Ferelden, the elven ones even less. He knew enough however to know that that as much as he might have complained about his own tumultuous upbringing, he had it easy by comparison. Most of the elves he had met were either slavishly meek or self-destructively angry, but Alim came from the tower, a place he had never been and didn't understand.

He had heard Jory say that Alim was a knight enchanter. He knew even less about that particular branch of magic than he did about any other, but he did know that the last warden to reach the level of Master of Arms, the highest honor awarded to grey warden warriors, was a knight enchanter who had also achieved the level of Archmage, the highest honor granted to a grey warden mage.

That one warden had personally killed tens of thousands of darkspawn in her lifetime and took an entire thaig filled with them when her calling came.

If Alim Surana was anything like Ariadne Trialmont then his worthiness to join their order was higher than any of them.

But the Joining had claimed the worthy before, and he was already dying from the taint, if they didn't put him through the Joining soon...

But that raised even more questions, when was he tainted? They had not run into any darkspawn yet, it had to have been before he had even arrived at Ostagar.

Maybe even during that ghoul attack that Duncan reported... but that was three, almost four days ago, and most people succumbed within hours.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes after they had left the slaughtered patrol behind, Alistair froze beneath a canopy of moldering pines. "Alistair? Everything alright?" asked Alim.<p>

"To cover, everyone. Now!" came the urgent hiss. "Get ready to fight!"

Sword belts flapping, the four Wardens darted left further into the swamp, concealing themselves behind an ancient tree, its exposed roots plunging deep into the mire. Without thinking, Alim drew his blade, keeping it low so it would not catch the stray light and betray their position.

The Wilds were quiet and still under the blanket of fog, and Alim shivered in the knee-high water. It would be easy to declare Alistair's warning an overreaction, but he remembered how Duncan had anticipated the ghoul ambush, and he now understood as he felt a stirring in his blood, pushing him to kill, slash, rip and tear apart these unnatural monsters who's very existence spat in the face of creation.

"What's going on?" Jory demanded. A stern glare silenced him, so he had to be content with leaning against the fungus-ridden bark and peering into the mist.

Then that terrible and distinctive stench wafted in, and instinctively Alim clamped his mouth shut to avoid gagging. Jory was looking especially pale and shaky, and Daveth was visibly restraining himself from vomiting in revulsion.

Alim glanced from behind the tree at the loathsome figures that emerged from the mist.

The darkspawn were here.

There were a dozen of the monsters, each a twisted mockery of life. Their flesh was an unhealthy shade of grey brimming with weeping sores and lesions, while veins of black blood pumped visibly under the scars covered them from head to toe, the result of ritualistic self-mutilation, and from hairless heads their blank white eyes stared outwards.

None of the darkspawn were equipped in the same manner; their armour was mostly a crude patchwork of leather and rusted iron, while their weapons were heavy, clumsy instruments of crude iron. Even so, some of them had augmented their arsenals with gear looted from the dead. They shuffled forward not in disciplined ranks, but as a shambling mass, snarling and growling, displaying rows of crooked, knife-sharp teeth.

Abruptly, their leader brought his hooked blade skywards and hissed through razor-sharp teeth, halting those behind. It was what Duncan had described as a "hurlock", one of the more common breeds of darkspawn. Vaguely, it resembled a human, if a human had been flayed of all his skin and forced to stand in a cesspool, while this particular example also possessed a bloated left arm upon which a leather-bound shield hung. Examining it closely, Alim realized to his growing horror that the leather was in fact human skin, the bloodied skull hanging from its belt a sign of the victim's fate.

Behind the creature came three "genlocks", dwarf-sized darkspawn that scuttled in their leader's wake with foul toothy grins, bat-like ears listening for any stray sound, sunken blank eyes studying the landscape. They weren't patrolling.

They were hunting.

Behind the foliage, the Wardens were deathly silent, though not without conscious effort. The seconds crept by like hours, and for Alim, the pain wracking his body was nearing unbearable levels, though he was thankful that he couldn't yet understand what the darkspawn were saying, if they were indeed saying anything. Accompanying the agony of the taint like it's ugly twin, the stirring in his blood was now a boiling, or at least it felt like it, making him feel a pins and needles sensation, urging him to massacre the abominations.

The old tales had not conveyed a fraction of the horror of the darkspawn, and the elf clenched his trembling hands around his weapons to drown out the sensations nearly driving him into insanity.

"Daveth." Alim's voice was barely above a whisper, "take the hurlock and the archers with your arrows, then draw your daggers and we'll engage the rest in close range."

Nodding, Daveth nocked an arrow onto the bow's string. In the quiet of the Wilds, the creak of the silvery-blue ironbark as he drew the cord past his ear seemed booming in the silence of the marsh. The hurlock heard it clearly, letting out a serpentine hiss as it made to strike at the prey.

Daveth's arrow hammered between the beast's eyes before it could take any steps towards them, black viscous blood gushed from the wound like a fountain and it fell forwards and hit the ground somewhat anticlimactically with a loud thump. The three recruits burst from their concealment, ripping their legs free of the muck and charging the darkspawn ranks, war cries drowning out the angry howls of the enemy.

Lighter and faster than the humans, first blood went to Alim as he swept a genlock onto it's back with his staff and plunged his sword into it's chest. It was strange how the fear and pain vanished in the presence of action, swept away in the exhilaration of combat and all the guilt that came with it. There would be no moral ambiguity in this fight however; no lingering concerns about leaving widows and orphans behind, or that he'd be slaying otherwise good men just following cruel orders.

The darkspawn were a menace against all life, unworthy of any mercy as they refused to give any in turn, and the elf gave an arrogant, boasting laugh as he slashed and swept into their ranks, begging the monsters to come and be killed.

A previously unseen hurlock rose to meet that challenge, swinging a pair of cruelly crafted axes. Blocking one blow with his sword, the impact reverberating along the steel, Alim leapt back and sucked in his stomach so the next blow struck only air. The elf seized the given opportunity, and the darkspawn was shrieking in agony as his sword opened a gash in it's chest and his blunt staff was forced into the gash and though it's body, stabbing clear through into its mockery of a heart.

"Is that the best you can do? Come on!"

The rest of the recruits fought with equal fury beside him, trying to bring down as many darkspawn as possible before they had the chance to bring their superior numbers to bear.

Jory was no meek soldier despite his reluctance in the face of such horrors, fending off two darkspawn simultaneously before beheading one of his attackers.

Those darkspawn equipped with bows found themselves in an archery duel with Daveth, the rogue sniping them off before they could target those occupied in melee, one shot an arrow at him before he caught the arrow inches from his face, stabbed the genlock attempting to sneak up behind him with it, and strung his own bow with it and shot the darkspawn that tried to shoot him.

Their ambush had paid off; half of the enemies number were dead or dying as they pressed the assault, and as Alim brought down a genlock with a vicious slash, and a hurlock with a bolt of spirit energy, he allowed himself to think that they could succeed.

And then a loud roar cut into the din of inhuman screams and the clashing of blades.

To the east, more darkspawn emerging from the mist, bounding over a small hill. Their leader was the largest of the creatures Alim had seen yet, a Hurlock taller even than King Cailan, black iron armour decorated with severed heads and other trophies of it's kills, it's brutish hands brandishing a massive two-handed maul in one hand and a greatsword in the other.

_'I swear, when this is over...'_

With a barked command, the darkspawn at it's flank sent a flurry of arrows at them, black shafts and wicked points hissing like rain.

Yelling in pain as an arrow slashed open his right cheek, Alim locked blades with a hurlock, desperately holding his own against it's monstrous strength. The creature's throat swelled, and the dying elf disengaged and leapt away just as the foe vomited forth a stream of thick black bile. A stray arrow, fired by a darkspawn archer into the dense melee, slammed into the hurlock's side. Never one to pass up a good opportunity, Alim cut the beast down.

"Alpha!" Alistair bellowed at the large darkspawn, almost reconsidering his duty as their non-combatant darkspawn detector, a garden of thick shafted vile arrows had blossomed on his shield. "Daveth, put it down!"

"Sorry!" the former thief yelled, parrying a genlock's wild blow. "In a bit of a fix here, mate!"

"We have to pull back!" Jory declared, putting his opponent down. "We're going to be slaughtered out here!"

In that moment, Alim made a judgement call that would have no doubt looked horrendously foolish in hindsight, taking off towards the archers in full sprint. Dimly, he heard Alistair shout at him to turn back, but he had no choice; they were pinned between the two groups of darkspawn, there was no turning back. The only way out of this trap was to break the jaws. It was a risk, but to stand there under the murderous fire of the darkspawn archers was certain death, and by the time the others finished off the first group, they would be torn to pieces.

Plus, he was sick and dying anyway, if his last action was spent saving the lives of the others, then so much the better. At least mages would not be known for always resorting to blood magic if pushed into a corner.

The alpha must have realized the elf's intentions, for the beast immediately began howling at his fellows, pushing them behind him with the giant war-hammer and flat of it's sword. Alim kept going, running up the hill as quick as he was able, springing up to his feet every time his boots slipped on the ground, slickened with gore in addition to already being a marshland. An arrow glanced off his left shoulder, but fear, anger and his own sickness gave the elf speed, a snarl bursting from his lips as he cut the first of the archers down.

A magic aura coated his sword and staff, making a bladed shell of energy around the staff and extending the reach of his sword to be equal with the length of his staff.

Howling it's own bestial cry, the alpha moved to intercept the would-be Warden. The maul fell, barely missing Alim and pounding into the turf. Parrying a blow from one of the archers, the elf brought up his staff up just in time to block the alpha's sword strike, the metal ringing from the impact. Arms screaming in protest, Alim stabbed low only for the darkspawn to casually parry it away, it's maul delivering a punishing blow to his face.

Falling onto his back, Alim rolled away from the maul's next strike and reset his broken nose with two fingers. The ghastly shrieking of the darkspawn and the clash of blades suggested that Daveth or Jory had finally put the first group down and come to his aid, but at that moment the alpha looming over him, lip-less mouth twisted into a freakish parody of a grin, was the only thing that mattered.

The maul fell and the magic coated Glamdring rose to meet it, Alim holding the blade horizontally above his head to block. The magically sharpened edge cut strait through the crude iron maul, and the thing screamed in rage. The alpha lashed out in a frenzy, dropping it's hammer and taking up the greatsword in both hands, bringing it down again and again and again to break through the elf's stalwart defense. Alim could hardly rise from this position, and the darkspawn had both gravity and superior strength on it's side.

It was going to kill him.

That's when Alim decided to change the rules.

His eyes flashed, and he breathed fire onto the thing, it backed away and dropped it's sword, patting furiously at the flames. He stood onto shaky legs, took up his sword in both hands and stabbed it in the gut.

The hurlock stopped trying to put the flames out and grabbed the sword with one hand and began to pull, drawing him toward it. It snarled in his face, looking as if it was going to take a bite when he got close enough. His own strength somewhat enhanced by the taint, he pulled his sword free and brought it around to behead it, thus ending the conflict.

The Wilds were still once again. The remaining few darkspawn had been brought down by the other recruits, and Alim paused to catch his breath and survey the carnage before him. Between them, the three had slain twenty three darkspawn with no losses of their own, though all had been injured in some fashion; Jory held his side gingerly, nursing a blow from a darkspawn mace, while Daveth boasted numerous minor cuts, clean and untainted, unlike himself.

The cut that blood-coated arrow left on his cheek was dripping with black blood. This new taint was only serving to make what was already inside him worse. He cursed silently, wiped the blood away and burned it from his gloves with a magical fire and healed the wound.

"First blood," the elf breathed, wiping off the worst of the darkspawn gore with a handful of long grass.

"Maker, that was… I can't believe we actually did that!" Jory crowed.

Daveth gave a small smirk at this. "Told you mate. We are supposed to be Wardens, after all."

"Well done, everyone," said Alistair, picking the arrows out of his shield. "Now, we should see about getting that blood. Plenty of darkspawn to choose from." When the recruits turned to gather their trophies, Alistair's expression grew serious. "Are you alright Alim? That was rather risky of you, wasn't it?"

"Necessary, though," Alim replied. "We were pinned down, and it was just the distraction we needed. Sorry if I gave you a fright there" Alim said, thinking it better not to mention the semi-suicidal intentions behind the rush.

"Well we're all standing, that's the most important thing here. Just try not to run off by yourself in the future; Duncan wouldn't exactly be pleased if I had lost our most promising recruit so soon after his recruitment."

"Oy! Were right here you know!" Daveth claimed indignantly, "he's right though Daveth. We could both stand to take a page out of his book" came Jory's response.

"Deal" Alim said, chuckling slightly at Daveth and Jory's bickering, somewhat embarrassing at his expense.

He only did what he did because it was necessary, that and the fact that he was already dying. He didn't want either of them to ever have to 'take a page out of his book'.

The Warden recruits set about the grisly task of gathering up the darkspawn blood. At the encouragement of the others, and as his own last act of revenge, Alim filled his vial with the blood of the hurlock alpha. Smiling in satisfaction, Alim slipped the vial into his belt pouch.

"Come on then, the treaties await."

"Wait Alim!" Alistair blurted out, "how did you breath fire? I didn't know mages could do that." Daveth and Jory turned to him in curiosity as well, they knew less about magic than Alistair did, but still... it didn't seem possible for an elf to breath fire like a dragon.

"Uh, that's just one of my more unique talents." Alim said nervously, the others didn't look convinced but relented to drop it for now when he turned away.

* * *

><p>Aedan Cousland was not faring well. He had escaped the unexplained massacre of his family, his subjects, and even his beloved Iona... all at the hands of that treasonous snake Rendon Howe and his men. He retreated south towards Ostagar to warn his brother of last weeks tragedy, only for this to befall him.<p>

He was embattled with darkspawn. The first time he encountered the monsters he was lucky enough to face only one, for he was too shocked by the monstrosity and was wounded, but managed to slay it without effort all the same.

Even so, he was infected.

Over time he came face to face with more of them, each band larger than the last, and this latest one he feared he would not survive. He had managed to slay all but three of the ten man band, an alpha and two genlock archers.

It was all he could do to keep the vile arrows away with the family shield and parry the alpha's blows with his family blade. He almost regretted retrieving the family weapons from the vault now, almost. Sure, they would be kept out of Howe's slimy hands, but now he feared they would fall to the darkspawn.

It was then, when all hope had faded from his heart, that the darkspawn archers pinning him down were both taken down by an arrow and a bolt of mana. He took advantage of the hurlock's sudden distraction to behead it with a roar rage.

Looking in the direction of his evident rescue, he saw that it was four gray wardens. Aedan sighed in relief and dropped his weapons, he followed them shortly afterwords, falling to the ground in a boneless heap.

* * *

><p>They went over the next rise, and saw three darkspawn harassing a lone human. He was tall and handsome, that much was clear even if he was knelt on the ground and desperately trying to stay alive, with dark hair in a similar style to his own and a stubble.<p>

However it was also clear that this man was tainted, far more so than himself. His skin was deathly pale and waxy with black veins poking out, and his eyes were a sickly yellow and bloodshot.

"My Lord Cousland!" Jory exclaimed, clearly recognizing the man, bending his knee to the nobleman. Between the two groups, the darkspawn had been crushed, and with the danger past, Jory felt confident enough to indulge in the finer points of noble etiquette. "I'm overjoyed to see you alive. After what happened to one of your scouting parties-"

"What? In the Maker's name, has something happened?"

"One of your scouting bands was attacked and brought down by the darkspawn close to the fortress," Alim explained. "Only one man survived, but was in no shape to press on."

"That was not my patrol," explained Aedan, "I am Aedan Cousland, and I have come to warn my brother Fergus of Howe's treachery. Howe's men stormed our castle, killing everyone inside.

"Maker..." Jory gasped in disbelief.

"They didn't even spare the children... or my beloved Iona" with his message delivered, Aedan collapsed in tears at his tremendous losses.

_'Iona? That's an elven name...'_ Alim thought, looking at the crying man _'but this human noble cries over an elf?'_ He had heard many stories of human nobles seducing elves into their beds only to discard them without a second thought, not even caring if they died.

The nobleman started "Amethyne!" he exclaimed in a panic "Iona had a daughter, Amethyne is her name. You must go to Denerim and find her and... take care of her." He whispered, filled with despair that he could no longer marry Iona and raise Amethyne as a daughter as he had so wished to do.

"Amethyne? I shall do this, you have my word." Alim told him, ignoring for the moment the fact that he would die soon as well without treatment.

He sighed in relief "thank you ser" Aedan said, picking up his sword before pointing it at his chest, but before he could plunge it home Jory grabbed his hand and shouted "what in Thedas are you doing Lord Cousland!?"

"Easy Jory, that man is tainted. He will die a slow and painful death, the Joining could cure him but he is too far gone."

"What are you saying?" Jory demanded, aghast at the notion. "If the joining can cure him then let's take him and return to Duncan!"

"Still got to find those treaties mate," Daveth reminded the knight. "Duncan's counting on us."

"I will not abandon a good man just for the sake of some old vellum!" snapped Jory. "He is too far gone! If we wait any longer he will become a ghoul who's only desire is to murder as many people as possible before the taint destroys him." Alistair responded, trying to talk some sense into him.

"The elf's tainted too!-" Alim's eyes widened, how did they know! "-why not just kill him instead of waiting for a cure as well!" Jory shouted "he's been tainted longer, true, but he's managed to suppress it! He's not as far along as-" "you dare insinuate that some elf is stronger than the noble son of house-"

"Enough!" Alim barked, silencing the argument with a glare. "Could we please try to remain professional here?"

"Stay out of this you filthy knife-ear, you-" Alim cut Jory off from his enraged rant by punching him across the face, his taint enhanced strength knocking the large human to the ground, "you go too far! You are NOT a knight, you are NOT a warden! You are a petulant child who lashes out at the easy target when things don't go his way!

"You are a COWARD!" Jory, shocked at his outburst could only stare silently, ashamed of himself.

With the argument settled, they turned to Aedan "do you have any last requests Lord Cousland?" Alim asked, "yes actually, the sword and shield I carry are heirlooms of my family. Take them back to camp with you and give them to my brother. Take my message of Howe's treachery to the king and avenge my family.

Lastly, find Amethyne and take care of her. I would have married Iona and raised her as my own daughter, but now..." Aedan doubled over in pain, the taint within him growing more and more painful.

His eyes softened, this nobleman was a good one, if only he had lived on to serve as an example for future generations of nobility.

Aedan slipped the sword in-between the cracks in his armor into his heart, ending his life and preventing himself from becoming something monstrous. Taking the weapons to give them to Lord Fergus, the Wardens continued on their way, Alim heard Daveth mumbling under his breath. "Everything all right there, Daveth?"

"Just regretting that it wasn't me who punched him. Bloody knight was grating on my last nerve with his constant blubbering." Jory said nothing, still steaming silently that he had his manhood stripped of him by an elf.

"Yes well... I understand that he was upset because of his lord dying in front of him, but he went to far with the slur. Up to this point I had thought you a good man Jory, you have a long way to go in earning my trust again." Jory merely grumbled.

"On that note, let's see about finding these treaties, shall we? If our luck hold out, we've seen the end of these darkspawn hunting parties."

It was not the end. The numbers of the darkspawn grew ever-thicker as the four pressed deeper into the Wilds, and four more times they engaged scouting parties patrolling the swamps for fresh prey. Luckily enough, they had managed to eliminate them all without suffering serious injury, but Alim was not foolish enough to believe that their luck would hold.

They had managed to find a cash of well-made chasind weapons and armour that they could sell fore some extra money, the bodies of the missing missionaries that he had heard murmurings of in camp Rigby and Jogby, father and son and men of the cloth who had come to spread their faith to the wilder folk, and a decorated lockbox with a note that said to return it to a woman named Jetta.

So when Alistair finally announced that the abandoned outpost was just ahead, they had to restrain themselves from cheering from joy.

It wasn't much to look at, an old and ruined tower rising out of the muck, the roof having been brought down by time and the elements, the outer walls covered in slick moss, fungi and creeping vines. The floor was covered with rot and rubble, and try as he might Alim could not imagine it having ever been a base for the Order.

Whatever glory that had been here was long gone, only memories and shadows of what had been remained. "Are we sure the treaties survived after all this time?"

"They should have," said Alistair. "The chest and lock were designed to absorb a lot of punishment, and like Duncan said the treaties themselves were enchanted. They'll be in here somewhere, I know it."

"When exactly has magic ever been reliable enough to... uh" the others just shook their head at Jory's fopaux.

"Uh, Alistair?" Daveth asked, pointing towards the debris. "Did the chest happen to look anything like that?"

Within the debris of the central tower sat the chest, broken beyond repair. The heavy oak wood had decayed to the point that it had caved in upon itself, and judging from how weak the wood looked, it had happened quite some time ago. There was no sign of the treties, and a search through the rubble proved to be fruitless. "Waste of bloody time," Jory griped, kicking away a rotten beam "to think that we risked our lives for nothing!"

He didn't even mention Lord Cousland, afraid to rile up the others further. Plus, even he knew that Aedan would have lasted till they got back to camp.

"Let me guess; you can't track the treaties down?" Alistair asked Daveth in a vain gesture.

"Sorry mate, I'm a good tracker but not that good. There's no way to tell when the chest was broken, and unless those treaties are witchified to keep any old filcher from nabbing them, I'd say they're long gone."

"No, Alistair or I should be able to detect them if that were the case" Alim shot Daveth down with a shake of his head.

Alistair's temper darkened, and Alim recognized the look of frustration that passed over him, that resentment that so much valor and effort could be for naught. It was clear that Alistair blamed himself, believed he had betrayed his mentor's trust.

Seeing what was happening, the elf to tried to turn him from that dark path. "It's not your fault, Alistair."

"If not me, then who?" the Warden retorted hotly.

"Whoever took the scrolls? Whoever decided to leave them out here in the first place? I don't know..."

"Well, well, what we have here?"

The four turned at the strange voice, and that was when Alim first saw her, descending down the ruined steps of the tower.

It was a girl— no, "girl" implied a weakness and fragility that the intruder stalking slowly and calmly towards them quite simply did not possess.

Her pale body was hard and lithe, the product of a harsh existence that did not allow for many comforts, and despite himself Alim felt his gaze travel to the deep swell of her breasts. The cleavage of which was hidden only behind the thin laces that held together the upper portion of her purple vest. There was a jewel encrusted gold ornate necklace adorning the curves of her lovely neck. Velvet sleeves covered her arms, to the wrist on her right arm and to the elbow on the left, her shoulder protected by a leather shoulder guard decorated with raven's feathers, she wore a black leather forearm guard on her left arm, while her slender hands bore black leather finger-less gloves. She walked with a considerable self-assurance, black leggings peeking out from beneath a tattered skirt designed out of old belts that had been sewn together, and knee high black leather boots completed the rather formidable image. Her semi-long hair was raven black and pinned to the back of her head so as too not hinder the view of her neck, and her lips were as wide and full as any man could ever want, her cheekbones high and noble.

But it was her eyes that struck Alim the most; a bright golden beneath her dark lashes and deep purple eye-shadow, gazing upon the four companions with an intensity that was unsettling... in a strange way, enticing. They were a hawk's eyes, calculating and cold and beautiful as they darted from Warden to Warden, seeking to determine their intentions or their utility… or their weaknesses.

No, "girl" truly wasn't the right word to describe her, for no mere girl would consider approaching four strange, heavily armed and potentially hostile men so openly. She was a reflection of the wilderness around her; strange and beautiful yet terrible, capable of being challenged but never to be disrespected, and Alim watched with a wary eye as she paced about them, a dragon prowling around them but disguising the movement as a seductive saunter.

The woman was a dragon, beautiful and enticing and seductive, but when the prey too the bait...

Even with Alim's tremendous self control, the sickness sapping at his willpower and strength like a diseased leach and her own dark beauty was making it difficult to throw her to the ground and have his way with her.

"Are you a vulture, I wonder?" she mused in a melodious lilting voice. "A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones have been long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?"

It was then that Alim noticed the blackened staff she held, it was as long as she was tall and wood, unusual as most mage staves he had seen were metal, at the tip was a black birds beak with feather and bead ornamentation. His breath caught in his throat. The young woman was a mage, and of unknown power and skill no less. It made sense, he supposed. Who would dare approach a strange band of warriors unless they had skills of their own to protect them? The others must have realized it too, given how swiftly Alistair tensed and Daveth whimpered.

"What say you, hmmm?" the young woman demanded. "Scavenger or intruder?"

"Neither, as a matter of fact," Alim stated calmly. "We are Grey Wardens. In truth, considering that this tower once belonged to the Order, I could ask you the same question."

"'Tis a tower no longer," she remarked, as if they had not noticed its current state of decay. "The Wilds have long claimed this desiccated corpse." Her hooded eyes darted back and forth, examining them for any threat posed against her person. "I have watched your progress for some time. 'Where do they go?' I wondered. 'Why are they here?' And now you disturb ashes that none have touched in so long. Why is that?"

"Don't answer her," Alistair hissed in warning before the elf could reply. "She looks Chasind, and that means others might be nearby."

"Ooh!" the mage said sardonically, throwing her hands into the air in mock fear. "You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you!"

"Yes," the former templar remarked dryly. "Swooping is…bad."

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, I tells you!" Daveth squawked, eyes bulging wide with fright. "We shouldn't be talking to her."

"Witch of the Wilds?" repeated the young woman, eyebrow raised in a gesture of obvious disdain. "Such idle fancies those legends, have you no minds of your own?" Her raptors gaze settled on Alim. "You there, elves are not frightened little boys. Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine."

"Don't do it, mate! Once she knows your name, then she'll be able to ensorcel you for sure!" protested Daveth.

It was well-meaning advice, and considering Alim had no idea of what powers the young woman wielded, or what her intentions were, he could understand the need for caution. The old fable of names having power was true enough as well, but time was running out. Within the space of a few days, the darkspawn horde would pass through this region of the Wilds and destroy everything in their path, they needed to retrieve those treaties now if the king's army had any hope of receiving the aid of the gray warden's traditional allies.

"I am Alim Surana of the Circle of Magi milady, and a recruit of the Grey Wardens." He said with a bow, "might I know your name?"

"Now, that is a proper greeting, even here in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan," the mage responded, giving the briefest hint of a smile at the respectful tone. "Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something within that chest, something here no longer?"

"Here no longer!" snarled Alistair, fixing her with the fiercest glare he could muster in his exhausted condition. "You stole them, didn't you? You're some kind of sneaky… witch-thief!"

Morrigan scoffed at this. "How very eloquent, how does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily, it would seem. Those documents are Grey Warden property and I suggest you return them."

"I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them!" Morrigan responded hotly, meeting Alistair's glare in kind. "Invoke a name that means nothing any longer here if you wish, I am not threatened."

Alim moved to de-escalate the situation before she decided to walk away, judging them not worth the trouble. "Then who did remove them, if you would be so kind in telling us Lady Morrigan?"

"'Twas my mother, in fact."

Behind him, Alim could hear Alistair barely stifle a snicker. "Your mother?"

"Yes, you oaf, my mother," came the sorceress' acid toned retort. "Why, you assume I spawned from a log?"

"Could you take us to her?" Alim asked, resting a hand on Alistair's shoulder in a silent message to keep quiet.

"Now there is a sensible request," said Morrigan with an enticing smirk "I like you."

"I'd be careful if I were you," Alistair whispered, fingers tensing around the hilt of his sword. "First it's 'I like you', then zap! Frog time."

Turning on her heel, Morrigan began to walk deeper into the Wilds with a seductive sway to her wide hips. "Follow me then, if it pleases you. Or not. 'Tis meaningless to me either way."

Without hesitation, Alim followed after her. "Let's go, everyone."

"Hold on just a second. Are we sure this is a good idea?" asked Alistair, falling in behind swiftly. "I want to get those treaties too, but following a strange woman deeper into a swampy forest filled with darkspawn doesn't seem like the smartest move. I mean she is an apostate, after all. If the Chantry knew she were out here, they'd have templars combing through the Wilds to find her and rightly so."

"You think that all apostates are untrustworthy then?" Alim asked with a frown.

"I think this one definitely is."

"She's a Witch of the Wilds!" Daveth repeated. "She'll have us all in a pot for sure!"

"If the pot's warmer than this forest, it'll be a nice change," remarked Jory, taking up the rear. "I have heard it said that the Wilders are deceitful and cowardly by nature, but if this woman can bring us to the treaties, what choice do we have?"

_'Pot calling the kettle black, Jory?'_

"None, Jory," said Alim, lengthening his stride to keep up with the dark-haired sorceress making her way through the marsh. In the end, they were committed, and if his instincts about the apostate were wrong, then the Wilds would be the last thing they would ever see.

"None at all."

* * *

><p>A woman of her word, Morrigan lead them deeper into the forest, and in a direction that seemed to be well known to her.<p>

The group walked of four for about thirty minutes, not meeting anything or anyone on the path. The others began to fidget, frightened that she was using her magic to create an illusion that made them think they were going one way, while they went another, straight into a pit of darkspawn.

Even Alim, who had to use every bit of magic at his disposal to suppress the taint, might not be able to sense it if that is what she was doing. As it was he might have lasted well into tonight, maybe until midday tomorrow, but with the second exposure of that archer's blood, the sickness was getting far worse. Were it not for his magic he might have already succumbed.

As it was he would only last till midnight.

Although, he had to admit, Alistair being the templar that he was would have been able to sense it.

Eventually they reached a rather large clearing with a ramshackle hut at the center, there was a large lake to one side that looked far too clear to belong in a swamp. As they approached, a woman came out the door.

She seemed... old, ancient even, and something about her seemed almost elven. Not in any feature she had or even in the way that she held herself, he didn't quite know how to explain it.

Despite what he could feel of her, she looked only slightly older than Leorah.

Her hair was bright silver, same as his own, but it was styled into horn like extensions held together by red ribbons while the rest fell down her back, and was framed by a strange silver headdress. Her eyes were a liquid gold, ringed by purple eye-shadow a shade lighter than Morrigan's. Her face was beautiful and only slightly wrinkled, with high cheekbones and arched eyebrows, and full lips with dark purple paint.

Her outfit was... odd, to say the least. She wore a purple outfit of an unknown shimmering material, she wore a piece that concealed her neck, and a coat-like garment that covered her entire torso save for a window that showed her cleavage, it stretched down to the ground in the back, but just below the crotch in the front. On her arms and legs were shining silver armor, but had no segments on the hands, it just flowed over her hands like liquid metal.

Lastly, she carried a dark purple metal staff that had a single bladed protrusion at the top, stretching to either side in a right angle to the rod portion.

This woman who seemed elvish but looked human looked... he didn't know, seductive? Dangerous?

He decided on a combination of the two, a potent combination.

If Morrigan was a dragon, then this woman could only be a high dragon.

Alim couldn't help but be nervous of her. It wasn't that he sensed a great power about her, it was more that he sensed _nothing_. The woman was obviously a user of magic, but he could sense a mages power if they were close, and he could even sense the presence of non-mages, but from this woman he could sense nothing.

It was as if she didn't exist at all.

He could see her in front of him, but he couldn't find her existence among the other lights that resembled Morrigan and his companions.

It was official, he was in his own person hell. He had always been strongly attracted to women stronger than himself, and was torn between staying here and challenging these women for dominance and doing his duty. With the blight eating away at him, he knew that if he expended the exertion necessary in such an endeavor, he would surely die as soon as finish.

But he couldn't think such thoughts, he had a task to finish and he wouldn't let anything get in his way.

"Greetings, mother. I bring four Grey Wardens who…" Morrigan started, but her mother cut her off.

"I see them, girl." Morrigan immediately went silent, quickly stepping around the older woman while remaining a respectful distance. The mother's eyes, the same fierce instinct gleaming in them as her daughter's, studied each Warden in turn, perhaps spending a second longer on Alim. She smirked. "Much as I expected."

"Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?" Alistair asked scathingly. Both Morrigan and her mother glanced at him for a moment amusedly.

"You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut ones eyes tight or open ones arms wide, either way, ones a fool." Alistair's eyes widened slightly. Davith meanwhile, was still trying to work his way through his old fears.

"She's a witch! We shouldn't be talking to her!" he hissed, standing as far away from the two women as he could.

"Quiet, Daveth! If she's really a witch, we shouldn't make her angry!" The mother smiled.

"There's a smart lad. Sadly irrelevant in the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decide. Believe what you will." Alim's eyes narrowed as he tried to work his way through what she had just said. Before he could ask, she turned back to him. "And what of you? Does your elven mind give you a different viewpoint?"

"I'm quite honestly not sure what to believe?" The woman smiled, studying him with interest renewed.

"Your question shows more wisdom that it might imply. Different questions do indeed require different answers. Be always aware. Or is it oblivious? I can never remember." Alim cocked an eyebrow and glanced at Morrigan, rubbing her temple in irritation.

"So this is a dreaded witch f the wilds?" Alistair jested, "witch of the Wilds?" the woman said sarcastically "Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, you see? She would never admit it! Oh, how she dances under the moon!"

Almost unbidden, the image of a naked Morrigan with hair flowing free dancing in a moonbeam came to the fore of his mind, weakening his self control ever so slightly.

"They did not come here to listen to your wild tales, Mother." Morrigan said, blushing heavily. Their eye's meet for a brief instant, and from the emberessment in her eyes he knew that it was no 'wild tale'.

He smirked at her, deepening her blush.

"True," the older woman's voice became much more direct, all jesting aside, and reached into a pack at her belt. "You came for your treaties, yes. And before you start barking-" she stated sharply, looking directly at Alistair, "-your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these." She pulled out three old vellum scrolls, fingering them slightly.

"You!" Alistair started, before catching up with what she said. "Oh, you protected them?" Morrigan snorted in derision at the templar.

"And why not?" her mother asked fiercely, before quite deliberately handing the treaties to Alim. "Take these, and tell your leaders that this threat, is greater than they realize."

"Thank you for returning them, milady." Alim asked, carefully putting the treaties away in his pouch.

"Such manners!" She exclaimed, eyes roving over his form appreciatively, "always in the last place you look. Like stockings." She rambled, "oh don't mind me." She let out a barking laugh, "You have what you came for." Morrigan smiled coldly.

"Time for you to go then," she started to walk away, before her mother stopped her.

"Don't be ridicules, girl! These are your guests." She chided and Morrigan stopped, sighed, and turned back to the Wardens.

"Very well, I'll show you out of the woods. Follow me." She said reluctantly, and with that, she stalked past them and back towards Ostagar.

* * *

><p>The trip back passed largely in silence, the Wardens all lost in thought, and Morrigan was still an unknown. She split off from them around the place where the Wardens had saved the wounded soldier, not wanting to be detected by any of the people dwelling within.<p>

They arrived back at the fortress unhindered.

"Let's get this blood and the treaties back to Duncan, we need to prepare for the Joining." Alim nodded, eager to get to his cure sooner rather than later, and before too long they were standing around Duncan's fire.

He was only glad that they did not run into Hawke on the way, he did not want her to see him like this. His skin waxy and pale and dripping with sweat, his eyes milky and bloodshot.

Duncan glanced up from the map he had been studying.

"Has your trip into the Wilds been successful?" he asked quietly. Alistair nodded, handing over the padded pouch holding the darkspawn blood, and Alim gave Duncan the treaties. He smiled. "Well done, all of you. It will take some time to prepare this.

"Will you give us any idea what this ritual is about, now?" Alim asked. Duncan's smile faded.

"I will not lie, we Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may dictate that you pay this price now rather than later. That is all I can say for the moment, and I must ask you to trust me. Alistair, take them to the old temple. The Joining shall take place there." Alistair nodded, before gesturing the others to follow him.

"Can I just give this flower to the kennel master, please. It's for a sick mabari" he asked, feeling that he had enough time left for such a task. Alistair paused for a moment, regarding the tie needed and Alim's level of infection, then nodded.

Alim quickly hurried over to the kennels, pulling his cowl down to further shadow his face.

"Oh, hey, you're back!" the man said happily as he noticed Alim. "Did you find the flower I mentioned?" Alim nodded, and handed it to the man. "Wonderful! This should make this poor boy feel better. I've been thinking, and we may be able to re-imprint him with you, the guy has become a lot more docile than he was after his last master died, generally a sign of a bond. Why don't you come back after the battle, we'll see if it worked."

"I've always wanted a dog, I'd be happy too." Alim said, saying his farewells before taking his leave and catching up with Alistair. He heard Jory talking as he came up the ramp.

"The more I hear about this Joining the less I like it." Jory said, pacing back and forward. Daveth looked up from where he was leaning against a pillar.

"Are you blubbering again?" he hissed at Jory, who glared at him.

"What's with all these damned tests? Have I not earned my place?"

"Maybe it's tradition, or maybe their just doing it to annoy you." Daveth's voice was dripping in sarcasm as he said this. Alim glanced at Alistair, who was watching the argument uncomfortably, his position by the exit making it seem like he was some kind of sentinel, standing guard in case one of them tried to run.

"All I know is my wife is in Highever with a child on the way, if … and it doesn't seem fair." He glanced at Alistair, who averted his gaze.

"Would you have come if they had warned you?" Daveth hissed, glaring at Jory. "Maybe that's why they _don't_. The Wardens do what they must."

"Including sacrificing us?" Jory asked furiously.

"I'd sacrifice a lot more if it meant ending the Blight!" Daveth said, taking a step forward. Jory started to respond in kind but Alim beat him too it.

"Enough! Both of you, stand down!" They both looked at him, mouths agape, surprised at his sudden testiness. "Arguing and fighting isn't going to get us anywhere. We're in this together, let's not make it worse."

"A wise attitude for a Gray Warden to have, Alim." Duncan said quietly as he entered the area.

Everyone turned to look at him, he held an ornate stone goblet with the gray warden standard carved into the side. His voice took on a slow, somber tone. "At last we come to the Joining." He walked slowly to the alter, carefully placing the goblet on it's worn surface. "The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood, and mastered their taint." Alim nodded, he had been expecting this.

"We're going to drink the blood of those… those creatures?" Jory, it appeared, hadn't. He had no reason to expect such a thing of course, Daveth either. He was already tainted, but he doubt anyone could truly master the taint without help, but he was beginning to understand how it felt to be one.

Minus the excruciating pain, of course.

"As the first Wardens did before us, and as we did before you. This is the source of our power, and our victory." Duncan said firmly.

"Grey Wardens are immune to the darkspawn taint." Alistair said, stepping forward. "We also gain a measure of the darkspawn's speed, stamina and strength, as well as being able to sense their presence just as mages and templars can sense the presence of people if trained to do so."

"That's what you mean by paying a price, isn't it?" Alim asked slowly, finally pulling down his cowl, revealing what the taint had reduced him to, much to Daveth and Jory's shock. "This Taint is normally fatal, so we could die during this Joining?" Duncan and Alistair nodded. An uncomfortable silence filled the air for a moment, before Daveth spoke up.

"Maybe some of us will die. Maybe we'll all die. If no one stops the Blight, we'll die for sure." Duncan nodded again, before turning to Alistair.

"We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but they have been spoken since the first. Alistair, if you would?" The younger warden slowly bowed his head, and he spoke slowly and somberly as Duncan had.

"Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows, were we stand vigilant. Join us as we uphold the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you."

Duncan nodded, before taking up the now blood-filled goblet again. "Daveth, step forward." He stepped forward solemnly done and Duncan handed him the goblet. "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden." Daveth raised the goblet and took a drink, while Alim caught a glimpse of the sickly black liquid within and shivered.

He idly wondered if his own blood looked like that or if it was still red.

Duncan took to goblet back, and for a moment nothing happened.

But then Daveth doubled over, gripping his stomach in the same pain that had been wracking his own body for hours. He then let out a terrible, heart-wrenching scream. He looked up, and both Alim and Jory jerked back when they saw his eyes, they were pure white, no sign of pupils or the veins marring his own eyes.

"Maker's breath!" Jory swore, but Alim just watched in silence.

"I'm sorry, Daveth." Duncan said in a haunted tone as the roguish man fell to his knees, choking and clutching is throat. Alim realized that he wasn't going to make it, and could only bow his head as he heard Daveth breath his last. Duncan did not not to waste any time. "Step forward, Jory."

The knight, however, backed away in fear. "But I have a wife, a child... had I known!" he stammered desperately. Duncan walked inexorably towards him.

Alim turned away, he had known that Jory didn't have the right mindset for this job, but was willing to let him grow into it like he was forced to do. It seemed he was wrong however, as it seemed that Jory had failed the final test.

"There is no turning back."

"NO! You ask too much!" Jory gibbered, drawing his sword. Duncan slowly handed the goblet to Alistair, drawing dagger. "There is no glory in this!" He took a desperate swing at Duncan but the Warden-Commander was just too good. He easily pushed the blow aside, stepped in close and ran Jory through.

"I am sorry, Jory" he whispered sullenly, before pulling the blade out and stepping back. Jory fell to the floor, dead. And then, suddenly, Alim was alone.

"Alim, step forward." Duncan said, taking the goblet back. Alim nodded, gently taking what might be his last drink. The blood's taste was indescribably horrible. "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden." For a long moment nothing happened.

Then the pain hit. It was different from anything Alim had ever experienced. Voices, countless millions of voices screamed in unison, and Alim couldn't understand if they were in his head, or all around him.

Visions flashed before his eyes; visions of blood, of death and of suffering. His limbs alternated between excruciating pain and simply not existing. For a moment, he thought he was in the Fade with demons of fear, terror and despair pulling at his limbs in a gruesome tug-of-war. Faintly, he felt his knees hit the chipped stone of temple floor.

_'This is it, I'm dying. The taint has finally became too much for me to handle'_ he thought to himself. He wondered what would happen, would he be able to see those who had gone before him, or would he simply cease to exist?

Would he go to the Void? Heaven? Or maybe some other afterlife that he had never heard of before?

_'Don't you dare give up Alim!'_ a voice hissed in the back of his head. _'It's not your time to die! You have too much left to do. Now FIGHT!'_

He drew himself together, started gathering his magic. He cast metaphorical shields in his mind, knitted together his spiritual wounds, bathed his mental foes in flames.

_'This is my body! I will not bow! I will not yield! I! WILL! SURVIVE!'_ And for a brief, glorious moment, he saw the world around him, saw the bodies of his companions, and saw Duncan and Alistair. In that moment, he knew that he truly was a Grey Warden. Then exhaustion claimed him and he fell back, asleep before he hit the ground.

He heard what must have been a dragon roaring in the darkness.

* * *

><p>AN: In the game the battle of Ostagar began just a few hours after the Joining, but in my story it will be two to three days. Next chapter will be the calm before the storm, Alim is going to spend some time with Hawke and train with her, please review andor check out the poll in my profile and tell me if you want there to be a lemon.

As for Alim breathing fire, there is an explanation for that and I will reveal it in time.


	8. Yet another AN, sorry

I just got Dragon Age: Inquisition for Christmas this morning, so updates might be slow coming for the time being. Sorry for the inconvenience.


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